Counterweight
by raining.in.adelaide
Summary: The fundraiser is insufferably dull and Jack goes onto the balcony for a smoke. When a tall dark stranger named Pitch follows him, suddenly it's not so dull any more. Pitch/Jack, modern AU
1. Chapter 1

It's cold on the balcony but Jack doesn't feel it. He rarely feels the cold, and in any case, it's much colder inside with his dad doing his damnedest to ignore him.

It's some glitzy shindig, a fundraiser, but these things are always more about his dad than about charity. It was Jack's mom that started them, years ago, before she died, and he keeps them up so that everyone remembers her. It would be a beautiful gesture if his dad didn't taint it with his bitterness and twisted version of grief. Jack feels obliged to attend for the sake of his mom's memory, but there's only so many of his father's sneers and hateful looks that he can take before he needs a break.

And so he's out on the frosty balcony, smoking a cigarette that his dad would disapprove of, but then he disapproves of most everything Jack does.

The door slides open behind him, and Jack winces, afraid it's going to be someone come to yell at him – his dad or one of his friends, who share his opinion that Jack is wasting his life – but it's a stranger. Tall, slim, dark hair. He glances at Jack and their eyes meet. A heartbeat, another, and the stranger breaks their eye contact to nods at Jack's cigarette.

"Got a spare?"

Jack nods and fumbles in his pockets, swearing as he drops the packet on the floor.

"I'm Jack," he says as he retrieves it and offers the guy one.

"I know. I'm Pitch."

"Pitch? Weird name."

"A man named Jack Frost should be careful insulting someone else's name," Pitch says with a whisper of a smile and leans in to let Jack light the cigarette. The flickering orange glow of the lighter makes his eyes look golden, and Jack's mouth is suddenly dry.

"So, uh. What are you – media mogul, Wall Street, lottery winner? You gotta be some kind of rich to have my dad interested in you."

"Old money," Pitch says, and gives a self-deprecating little twist of a smile. "Very old."

"Like me, then."

"Like you."

Jack's family is as old money as the New World gets, his great-great-grandfather a railroad tycoon. He wonders what Pitch's story is. The British accent – the ridiculously _sexy _British accent – suggests his old money is much older than Jack's. He could even be royalty, Jack thinks with a thrill, and ridiculously glances up at his hair as if he expects to see a crown. There isn't one, of course. Just black hair with a few strands of grey, a hawkish bone structure and a suit that fits almost indecently well. Pitch knows how to dress. He also has a fantastic ass.

Blushing at his thoughts, Jack sucks in a lungful of smoke and blows it out slowly into the cold night air. When he glances back at Pitch, he sees that Pitch is watching him with something that looks very much like interest in his eyes.

Maybe tonight won't be so terrible after all. Getting fucked by an older stranger with that accent and that ass sounds like it might be pretty fun.

Leaning back against the balcony, keeping eye contact with Pitch, Jack grins up at him, crooked and (hopefully) flirtatious.

"So do you live in New York? Or do you have some Downton Abbey place back in England?"

"I live in New York, mostly. There's a 'Downton Abbey place', as you put it, where my parents live, but I have little interest in it."

"You live near here?"

"Near enough."

"And is there a Mrs Pitch?"

Pitch hitches at eyebrow. His gaze ducks to take in all of Jack, from hightops to bedhead, and then back down. There's a hungry flash of a smile but it's gone so quickly that Jack isn't sure it was there. "There's an ex-Mrs Pitch," he says. "And I have a five year old daughter."

Jack wonders if he says that to put him off, but he wants sex, not marriage, and he could care less if Pitch has kids. "She live with you?"

"No. With her mother."

"So – your apartment's empty? With a bed big enough for two?"

The flash of a smile is amused this time, and he inclines his head. "Indeed it is. And I think it's going to stay that way. Thank you for the cigarette, Jack."

Stubbing it out on the balcony, he throws it into the small trash can in the corner and goes back inside. Jack looks after him with narrowed eyes and takes another drag of his cigarette.

If Pitch thinks he's going to get away that easily, he's wrong.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed. This story is actually kind of a modern AU of my fantasy blackice fic, The Heavy Weight of Duty, but it can totally be read on its own. The plan is to update every week on Fridays. I have a tumblr dedicated to Counterweight and The Heavy Weight of Duty, the link is on my profile. I hope you enjoyed the story!


	2. Chapter 2

Jack goes inside with the intention of finding Pitch. What he's going to do after finding Pitch he's not quite sure, but he thinks it'll be pretty fun.

The room is bright and glittering, obnoxious in its white marble and crystal chandelier grandeur. Everyone is dressed in something that cost at least a thousand bucks and they're knocking back the free champagne, trying to drink enough to pay for their entry fee.

In the sea of tuxes and ball gowns it's hard to spot Pitch, and before Jack gets much of a chance he hears his name being called. It's Ben, his dad's best friend and business partner. Jack gives him a quick smile and tries to turn back to his Pitch-spotting, but Ben isn't done with him. He approaches and puts his arm over Jack's shoulder, leading him to the front of the room.

"These tight-fisted socialites aren't giving up much of their money tonight," Ben says with a grin. "You know what they're like. The more money you have, the less willing you are to spend it."

"That's what they say," Jack says, feeling awkward. "But you always manage to raise record amounts every year."

"Yes indeed, and though this year's been disappointing, I've had a wonderful idea. Will you help me?"

"Sure, whatever," Jack says, wondering why Pitch is so hard to spot. He was well over six feet, he should stand out like a fucking giraffe.

"Excellent," Ben says, and pulls Jack up onto the small stage. Grabbing a spoon to rap against his glass, he attracts the attention of the room. Two hundred fake smiles turn to them, and Jack takes his elevated position to finally find Pitch, standing near the back of the room with a newly acquired glass of champagne.

"Thank you all for coming," Ben starts. "And for your continued support of our charity. The auction is about to begin, but before we start to look at vases and jewellery we have something much lovelier to auction off: Jack."

"What?!" Jack turns to stare at Ben, but with one hand on his shoulder, painfully tight, Ben thrusts Jack to the front of the stage. Either he can make a scene or he can roll with it; right now he's settling for frozen with shock.

"A date with Jack - now I know there are some ladies out there who are interested in that!"

A titter from the side of the stage - Marta and Melly, the daughters of one of his dad's friends and the nastiest pieces of work Jack's ever met. They have two favourite hobbies when they're with Jack: bullying topic _du jour_ (their favourites are blaming him for his mother's death or telling him that he's going to hell for being gay), or groping him in ways that only Jamie has ever touched him before. They'd look out of place in _Mean Girls _for being too awful and he abso-fucking-lutely has no desire whatsoever to go on a date with either of them.

"Ben," Jack whispers, "No, I don't want to-"

"And while it's officially just a date - well, it depends how much you bid," Ben adds with a wink, and Melly and Marta grin up at him. "Let's start the bidding at five hundred," Ben says, his had tightening even more on Jack's shoulder, making him gasp in pain.

What the hell is wrong with Ben? Is this actually happening? If Ben had __asked __him then that would be a different thing, but __Jesus.__

Melly starts, is quickly outbid by an older lady that Jack doesn't recognise but who seems to be doing it for charity rather than for the sake of molesting Jack. The bidding goes to a third woman, clearly already drunk, and then is battered around between the three of them. The older lady drops out first, then the drunk, and Melly looks up at Jack with a nasty smile.

"Ten thousand dollars," Ben breathes, cheeks pink with excitement. "Anyone generous enough to too that?"

"Twelve thousand," says Pitch, and Jack looks at him with the deepest gratitude he's ever felt.

Ben smiles, delighted. "Twelve thousand! How generous!"

"Why would Jack want to go on a date with an old man?" Melly says, too loudly, and Marta mutters her agreement.

"He's hardly an old man and trust me, I want him _way _more than I want you," Jack says, directing his most charming smile at them.

"That's twelve thousand going once - unless we have any more bidders?" Melly and Marta whisper amongst themselves, but apparently this is out of their budget. Jack is so relieved he actually feels a little faint. "Twice - three times- Sold! Pitch, come forward to arrange your date!"

Smoothly Pitch works his way through the crowd, which parts before him in a wave of whispers. Pitch seems unconcerned by what anyone might think, so Jack decides to take the same mindset.

The compère takes their place on the stage, and Ben waves Pitch to a small booth at one aside of the room and pushes Jack into it.

"Most generous of you, Pitch. But then Jack is a pretty thing isn't he?"

After what just happened, Ben's words make Jack's skin crawl, and he moves away from his touch.

"It's very generous of Jack to agree to such a thing," Pitch says with an shrug. "I can have the money to you tomorrow."

"For a little extra, perhaps something - more - can be arranged," Ben says, and Jack pushes away from the table.

"What the hell, Ben?!"

"It's for charity, Jack," Ben says, his voice nothing but reason. "I told you - we haven't raised much this year. It would be such a shame if this was the first year that our figures went down, just because you came over all prudish."

"I will pay for a date and nothing more," Pitch says, looking at Ben through narrowed eyes. "I will assume that everything else is just a joke, and in poor taste at that. Considering that this is to raise funds for his mother's foundation, I can't even imagine what she would make of you trying to sell her son."

"Ah- Of course. All in jest." Ben beams widely. "Why don't I let you and Jack decide on where to go for your date? I have some turn-of-the-century figurines to sell!"

Ben hurries off and Jack slides back in his seat, feeling shaken. That __was __just a joke, right? It must have been. He's known Ben all his life – thinks of him as an uncle. What kind of uncle would try to prostitute his nephew? It's ridiculous. It __must__have been a joke.

Almost as ridiculous is the way that Jack feels kind of insulted that Pitch wasn't willing to pay to have sex with him. Of course, he'd have been fucking __furious __if he had tried to negotiate a price with Ben. But still.

"You don't have to go on a date with me if you don't want me," Jack says, trying not to sound too petulant.

"And who says I don't want you?" He sips his champagne and there is a shimmer of heat in his gaze that makes Jack's mouth dry and makes his trousers suddenly seem uncomfortably tight.

Jack blinks. "Well - I - what just happened, you know? If it's just for _charity-_"

"It seemed to me that Benard was trying to force you into something that you didn't want to do. The way I see it, if the date goes well then we can reassess then. But if we do have sex, it will be because you want me, not because you were forced into it to uphold this strange version of charity."

"Huh," Jack says. "So- _Do _you want me?"

Pitch looks at him for a long, long moment and Jack realises that his eyes really do look golden, and they're really pretty, and for all that he's a long way from _handsome _Pitch is actually kind of hot. And then he reaches over the table, grabs Jack by the lapels and pulls him into a kiss. It's only a few seconds, little more than a brief flick of Pitch's tongue into his mouth, before Pitch pulls away and stands, straightening out his tux and looking down at Jack with a hitched eyebrow.

He offers a business card and Jack takes it, dazed and wondering how in the hell a five second kiss can be the best one he's ever had.

"Call me," Pitch says, and it's not a request.

He disappears back into the crowd and Jack stares after him.


	3. Chapter 3

Jack starts by googling Pitch by the full, ridiculous name on his business card. He has a Wikipedia entry - which delights Jack no end - complete with a less-than-flattering picture. It mentions that Pitch is forty-second in line to the British throne, which makes him a little overexcited and he texts Jamie to tell him that he has a date with a prince. He doesn't mention that Pitch isn't strictly a prince, or even a lord (that's his father's title) but it's still awesome.

It takes a while longer and a couple of beers before Jack gets up the courage to text Pitch. He writes and rewrites the message a dozen times before he finally comes up with:

_So when and where?_

A masterpiece for the ages, without a doubt.

Luckily Pitch doesn't seem to mind; in fact he's a man of few words himself:

_Thursday night. I'll pick you up. Dress smartly._

Jack sends _Awesome_ in response and then stares at his phone.

Okay. Okay, so he has a date. A date with a not-really-prince twice his age. (That Ben forced Jack into and Pitch paid for, but don't think about that, way better not to think about that.)

Obviously the next step is to brag about it.

Jamie's first words are not exactly enlightened.

"He's how old?"

"Thirty-six," Jack says, flopping down on the sofa beside Kal, Jamie's roommate and Jack's other best friend - only other friend, really. He's hoping that Kal's going to be on his side, but the doubtful look in his eyes says differently.

"Jack, he's twice your age."

"Yeah, thanks Kal, I did pass high school math."

Which Kal knows, since they met in junior high. Jack was getting picked on for being so skinny, and Jamie was the first one to stand up for him. Since Jamie is short and skinny himself, it probably wasn't the best decision he's ever made. But then over came Kal, star of the wrestling team at his old school with the muscles to prove it, to defend both of them. It had taken two headlocks and a week of detection but it had ended up with the three of them as best friends and it had been absolutely worth it.

And usually - _usually_ \- Kal and Jamie defend him against the world even now. Apart from this time, apparently.

"And he was happy to pay for a date with you? That's kind of creepy."

Jack glares at Kal. "He did it to save me from Marta and Melly."

"I'm one hundred percent certain he knows absolutely nothing about Marta and Melly," Jamie says, pushing him aside so that he can fit on the sofa too. "Face it, Jack: he's just some guy having a midlife crisis who wants a date with a cute twink."

"I am not a twink."

Kal snorts. "You're the dictionary definition, Jack."

"Shut up," Jack says, punching him in the arm. "Anyway, what does it matter? Maybe I want a date with a kind of hot older guy. It's just a date. Stop being jerks."

"You know we love you, Jack," Jamie says. "We're just worried about you."

"I'll be fine," Jack says and grabs the cable remote, starting to flick through the three hundred channels of nothing-on in an attempt to distract them from his love life. "Look, I'll text you if I need rescuing, okay?"

"Not okay," Kal grumbles. "But if you've got your heart set on it-"

"I do."

"-just remember that if you _do _need rescuing we're here for you. Okay?

"I won't-"

"But if you do-"

"If I do I'll text you, okay? Jesus."

Jack rolls his eyes again, but he can't seem to stop from smiling.

It's not until Thursday night that Jack realises that Pitch might, y' know, need his address in order to pick him up. He's about to hit call when his phone buzzes with a text.

_From: __Pitch __  
__We're outside._

And when Jack looks out of the window, there's a huge black car outside the apartment building, ten floors below.

"Huh," he says, and glances at his reflection. The text said dress smartly and so he has. One of the good things about being forced to so many charity dinners is that he has far more suits that the average eighteen year old. The average eighteen year old probably doesn't wear Hugo Boss either, but Jack is glad he can afford it because his ass looks incredible. After how great Pitch looked the night they met, Jack feels like he has to step it up. After all, Pitch _did_ pay a ridiculous amount of money for this date.

Grabbing his jacket he pulls it on and steps out of his room.

"I'm going out," he calls, and of course he gets no answer. Even if Pitch did turn out to be some psycho killer, it'd probably take his dad a week to notice that Jack wasn't around. And even then he wouldn't give a shit. He'd probably be glad about it.

Not the best thoughts to be having before a date, so Jack pushes them away and slots a smile firmly in place, practicing on the door man before heading over to the car.

He pauses at the door, not sure if he should just get in, but the window lowers, revealing Pitch. He looks Jack up and down and then nods approvingly.

"Very nice," he says before shifting over so that Jack can get in.

"Obviously," Jack says, running his hands over the leather seat, and then looks up at Pitch. Another black suit - Pitch seems like the kind of guy who probably lives in black suits. "Not bad yourself."

"Obviously," Pitch says, and the driver pulls out into the slow New York traffic.

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the delay, I've been on vacation! Back to the usual Friday updates from now on :)


	4. Chapter 4

They pull up at some fancy Thai place that Jack's never been to. It's understated inside and out, but Jack's not paying much attention to interior decorating. His mind is in overdrive, trying to decide on what to say that won't make him sound like a blithering idiot. Luckily his mouth is ignoring his brain, running on small talk with just a hint of flirtatiousness.

The maître d' leads them to seats near the window, looking out over the city. On a clear night it would be a gorgeous view of Manhattan, but tonight the fog is in the way. Not that it matters; Jack's attention is focused solely on Pitch.

As they talk, Jack's brain slows its frantic panic and he starts to actually relax instead of faking it. Even though Pitch is haughty and maybe even arrogant, his sharp humour makes Jack smile and his liquid movements make Jack-

Well, interested. Very interested.

At one point Jack's cuff rides up as he reaches for his glass, and Pitch's eyes zero in on the little sliver of revealed wrist. He reaches over and gently runs a finger over Jack's inner wrist. His brain instantly goes offline and his dick suddenly wants to be the centre of attention.

"A tattoo?" Pitch asks, his finger still stroking across Jack's sensitive skin, back and forth, back and forth.

It takes a few attempts before Jack manages to speak. "Uh huh," he says, and grins in an attempt to hide his lack of higher brain function.

"What is it?"

Jack's grin widens. "Why don't you take me home and find out?"

With a chuckle, Pitch circles Jack's wrist with his thumb and forefinger, holding tight, and Jack's brain gives up completely. It feels - claiming. Possessive. Like a cuff that claims him as Pitch's, and he likes that more than he would ever have thought possible. It's only for a handful of seconds and then Pitch pulls away, sits back and sips his wine.

"Not tonight," he says, and Jack wants to scream at him.

"Oh, come on. You still worried about the whole payment thing? Don't. This is off the books. Something we both want."

"If it's something we both want then it's something we can both wait for," Pitch says.

"I don't know about that," Jack mutters. He tells himself that if there's another date, next time __he's __going to be the one being a pricktease, though he knows that wouldn't pan out. He wouldn't say no to anything. If Pitch asked him he'd get under the table right now and suck him off.

Jack licks his lips. Now there's an idea.

When the meal's over, Pitch pays, and as they head back to the car Jack tries to think of a way to change Pitch's mind. Stripping might work, he thinks, and he's seriously considering it as they get into the limo. Pitch tells the driver to take Jack home, and Jack's about to argue when Pitch grabs the front of his jacket and pulls him close, kisses him hard. It's unexpected, but Jack will definitely take it. Pitch's kiss is hot and fierce; he's totally in control and Jack finds he wants him to be, and not just because Pitch is a damn good kisser. He just - _responds_ to Pitch, finds himself whimpering and pliant. He doesn't bother trying to think of why that is; he just goes with it, letting Pitch push him down onto the seat and climb on top of him, throwing his leg over Jack's hips so that he's straddling him.

_Oh god_, Jack thinks. Pitch's weight on top of him makes him want - everything - and he presses his hips up, grinding.

"No," Pitch whispers, biting Jack's bottom lip and making him whine. "I'm in control."

_You wish_, Jack thinks.

"Uh huh," Jack says.

Pitch smirks at him before leaning in to bite his lip again. The little flashes of pain make Jack gasp and he wants more. More pain, more pleasure, just -_more_.

Pitch doesn't let him have it. He pushes himself up on his elbow and grins at Jack, but before Jack can catch up with what the hell is happening, his hand are under Jack's shirt, teasing his nipples. Jack wants to swear but his throat seizes up and all he can manage is another strangled moan, all he can feel is how hot Pitch's hands are, how good it feels having his nipples squeezed and teased, and how much he likes Pitch looking down at him like that, all of his concentration on Jack, fierce and sharp and burning hot.

Then they're kissing again, Pitch's nails scraping down Jack's sides, his tongue in his mouth, and Jack's brain is reeling, he's whimpering and he feels like he's melting.

And then Pitch pulls back, sits up, straightens his shirt.

Jack stares up at him.

"You're home," Pitch tells him, and Jack continues to stare.

"But-" It's still hard to think so his gestures at his cock, tenting the fabric of his trousers.

"I know," Pitch says, and his predatory grin makes Jack swallow.

"But-" Jack casts about for something to follow that up with. "Come __on!__"

The grin widens. "Next time," Pitch says, "I am going to take you up to my room, get you down on your knees and make you suck my cock. Or perhaps I will bend you over the back of my sofa and spank that pretty little arse of yours. Perhaps I'll just get you on all fours and fuck you until you scream. I haven't decided yet."

"Wh- why not now?"

"Partly because you were forced into this-"

"No, I want this, I-"

"And partly because I want to tease you."

"This is more than fucking teasing," Jack growls, pushing himself up into sitting and groaning as his cock rubs against the material of his trousers. "You do - that and then you – you stop-"

"I like to be in control, Jack," Pitch says, his smile sharp as a crescent moon. "I like to remind people of that. What I would really like is for you to go up to your room and not touch yourself. I'd like for you to save that for me. Do you think you can do that?"

Jack blinks. For Pitch to tell him when he can come - give him permission - that's a _very_ nice idea. But Jack knows that there's not way he'll be able to do it. If Pitch isn't going to make him come then he's going to do it himself or he's going to explode.

"No." Jack glances out of the window and realises that they're stopped outside his building and wonders when that happened.

"A shame. But perhaps we can work on that later. I could leave you tied up. Tease you. Get you hard but not let you come. Keep you there like a good boy - maybe if you beg hard enough, I'll bring you off."

"I'll beg right now."

"No," Pitch says, and reaches across Jack to open the door. "I'll text you tomorrow. And do _try_ to control yourself. Try to be a good boy."

He steals one last kiss and then pulls back, smirking. Deciding that Pitch is in fact a stubborn asshole and isn't going to give Jack what he wants, he glares at him and pushes himself out of the car. He walks past the doorman, trying ineffectually to hide his hard-on with his jacket, and goes up to his room.

For a moment he thinks about what Pitch said, about waiting, but there's no way in hell that's going to happen. He doesn't even bother stripping. Instead he throws himself onto the bed and pulls his cock out. It's already slick, smothered in pre-come, and he strokes himself, thinking of Pitch pressing him down like that, of his fingers encircling his wrists-

He yelps in surprise as he comes, spurting over his shirt. His whole body tenses up and his thighs shake, and he feels like the breath's been punched out of him. He gasps, shaking, still stroking his cock, milking every last drop from it. That was - intense. Really fucking intense. Jack stares down at his shirt, covered in come, and gives an exhausted grin.

"Holy shit," he says. That was one of the best orgasms he's ever had. It was - It was incredible. He fishes around for more words to describe it and gives up. His brain is officially not working. He considers going to get a shower, but the instant he closes his eyes, he's out for the count.


	5. Chapter 5

Jack spends most of the next morning agonising over when - and whether - to text Pitch. Is it too early? Should he leave it a few days? Normally Jack's relationships are pretty easygoing, but nothing about Pitch suggests 'relaxed' to him. It makes him worried about doing something wrong, moving too soon and scaring him off. Can he even scare him off, or was he only interested in a one-night stand in the first place?

If he only wanted a damn one night stand he could at least have fucked me, Jack thinks and then sighs. Maybe he should go out. Get coffee, or go wander around Central Park.

Or maybe he should text Pitch.

Grumbling at himself and his stupid circular thoughts, he picks up his phone, starts a message and then puts his phone down again.

"You're pathetic," he tells himself, and pushes himself up from his bed, grabs a hoodie and heads out.

He starts wandering the streets with no real direction in mind. Last night was good. Really good. But Pitch is- Jack's brain comes up against a roadblock. What is Pitch? Controlled. Aloof. Intense.

He's a fucking pricktease is what he is.

That last thing - the bit about asking Jack to hold on, to not make himself come until Pitch gave him permission…

Jesus, that was hot. Just thinking about the way that Pitch looked at him while giving that command is enough to get his cock interested. Could he wait? If that's something Pitch is really into - could Jack wait, do what Pitch asked? Do __anything __Pitch asked? Licking his lips, Jack shoves his hands in his hoodie pocket. His rapidly hardening cock answers that question; or at least, he'd sure as hell give it a try. He's done some kinky stuff. One boyfriend liked to tie him up. Not boyfriend really. A guy he slept with occasionally. But he didn't have that same intensity as Pitch, wasn't so in control and utterly confident, and that's what Jack found so damn hot.

His phone buzzes, jerking him out of his thoughts. A text, from Pitch.

__If you're free this afternoon I want to see you.__

Well that's to the point. Jack reads it and rereads it, trying to see if there's anything between the lines that he should be reading, but there's not really anything else __to__read.

__Sure, I'm free whenever. Where do you want to meet?__

Almost immediately, an answer:

__Mason's coffee near the Museum of Natural History. 3pm.__

It's 2:15 now, and Jack's within walking distance. A coffee shop though - bit of a difference from last night.

_Sure, see you there_, Jack sends, and then chews his lip. On the one hand, Pitch wants to see him again. And he responded so quickly, that's got to mean something, right? On the other, it's not exactly a romantic date. Those texts weren't romantic either, or hot, or even teasing. They're just-

__You're overthinking things___,_Jack tells himself, and that always gets him in trouble. Fishing his earbuds out of his pocket, he puts on a podcast to try and distract himself.

When he gets to Mason's he breathes in deeply, lets it out slowly.

__You've only had one date with this guy___._ The fact that he paid for it kind of makes things weird though. Fuck Ben and his ridiculous fundraiser. If it wasn't for him, Jack wouldn't be nearly as nervous out by all of this.

_Yes, you would_, he thinks. He's nervous because Pitch does strange things to him, makes him feel all pliant and submissive, and like he wants to do any thing he asks. Besides, if it wasn't for that fundraiser he probably would never have met Pitch in the first place.

Stepping inside he glances around. No Pitch yet. It's exactly the kind of place he'd imagine Pitch going to, though. Tidy, straight lines, Escher on the walls. Strictly monochrome, effortlessly elegant and chic. The menu is straightforward: coffee or tea. Those are literally the only choices. No frothy milk or syrups and definitely no frozen semi-milkshake monstrosities. On the counter there's a minimalist menu describing the three kinds of roasts and the five blends of tea, and Jack frowns as he looks at it, having little idea what any of them are talking about. It's wine-bottle-label nonsense, so he orders a medium roast and dumps cream in it before going to a table in the corner.

While he's waiting, he glances around the room at the other people. There's a few older guys sat together, both of them staring at their phones. There's a red-haired woman staring out of the window, and Jack wonders who she's looking for. Is she waiting for someone or just people watching? Concentrating on these other people gives him a chance to stop worrying about himself, so he invents back stories for them.

She's just moved to the city, he decides. She doesn't really know anyone yet, but she's okay with that. She wants to see where she fits into New York first, see how she likes the taste and the tune of it before she really builds a life here.

The guys are old friends. Went to school together, meet up only a few times a year but whenever they do they fit back into their easy friendship without even the slightest bit of effort from either of them. One looks up from his phone and smiles at the other - they start a quiet conversation and Jack feels bad for trying to listen in.

But then the door opens and all thoughts of anyone else are dashed from Jack's mind.

It's Pitch, wearing a military-style black coat with gold buttons, tight black jeans and scuffed Docs. His hair is tousled and windswept and come on, seriously, how is Jack supposed to deal with this?

He spies Jack and comes over, resting a long-fingered hand on the back of the chair opposite. Jack stares at his nails for a moment, not quite able to meet his eyes just yet, and notices that he needs a manicure.

"Hope you weren't waiting long," Pitch says, and Jack forces himself to look up. He's less intense in the daytime, Jack thinks vaguely and offers Pitch a smile.

"Not at all."

Once he's gotten himself a drink, Pitch sits opposite Jack and gazes at him for a long moment. Jack wonders what he's looking for and shifts a little in his chair.

"Before we go any further, we need to talk," Pitch starts. "About what I want from you."

"You made that pretty clear last night."

Pitch holds his gaze for a long moment and then cocks his head slightly. "Yes. A little too clear. It was - inappropriate."

"I don't know about that. For the record, though, I didn't wait. And I'm glad I didn't because it was fantastic," Jack says with another grin and Pitch breathes in sharply.

"I'm sure it was. But - about what I said-" Pitch stops himself and wraps both hands around his coffee cup, looking over at Jack with a serious expression. "No. Before that I want to talk about Benard."

"Really? Seriously? Because I can think of a whole bunch of more interesting things to talk about."

"As can I, but this is important. When we met on the balcony, I wanted you." The forthrightness takes Jack by surprise, and he blinks. "However, I wouldn't have acted on that without Benard's little auction."

"Why?"

"Because of how young you are. I don't make a habit of dating boys half my age."

"Maybe you should make a habit of dating one in particular," Jack suggests and points at himself. It coaxes a smile from Pitch, and he takes a sip of his coffee to hide it.

"I bought that date at the auction because I could see how uncomfortable you were. I thought that we had a connection on the balcony and that perhaps you wouldn't mind a date with me."

"I definitely didn't mind it. There was chemistry, fireworks, the whole thing."

"I just wanted to be clear, to draw a line in the sand. Whatever happens from here on in has nothing to do with that. No monetary dealings beyond perhaps paying for dinner. Strictly personal from now on."

"Sounds good," Jack says, draining the last of his coffee and leaning forward. This talking is making him nervous; he's always afraid he'll say something wrong, like he always seems to. "So - back to your place?"

Another smile from Pitch. It's like a game - how many times can Jack get Pitch to smile against his will? "Not quite. The other thing that I wanted to talk about are my proclivities."

Jack blinks. "Your what?"

"When it comes to sex, I am not what you might call vanilla."

"Yeah, I got that," Jack says, thinking back to the night before. "You're kinky."

Pitch's eyebrow hitches. "Indeed I am." He taps his coffee cup. "Are you?"

"Uh. I - haven't had a huge amount of experience. I mean – I kinda like being tied up-" Jack stops there because Jesus Christ, Pitch's eyes just flared like a supernova. He reaches across the table to circle Jack's wrist with thumb and forefinger, just as he did last night, and suddenly Jack's mouth is dry. "And I, uh. Blindfolds. I like it a bit rough." Oh god, the way Pitch is looking at him, how is he supposed to deal with that? They're not even in a bar where they might have the excuse of being drunk, but if Pitch leapt over the table and pinned Jack to the floor - which it looks like he wants to - Jack would have absolutely no problem with that. He doesn't even think he'd mind the audience.

"Do you," Pitch says, his voice smooth and deep, ever-so-slightly different than his normal voice.

"Uh. Yeah. Like I said. Not much experience. But - I'd like more. And you'd like to give it to me, right?"

"Right," Pitch says, his thumb moving in tiny circles over the inside of Jack's wrist. It makes his breath hitch - such a tiny thing, but damn if it doesn't feel good. And if __that __feels good.

"So - you're going to give it to me, right?"

Pitch stares at him for another long moment and then he sits back, folding his arms. Jack has to bite down on a disappointed groan when Pitch is no longer touching him.

"Yes," he says. "I am."

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much for the favs, follows and comments! You guys are amazing. I'm so happy you're enjoying this! Sorry this is a few days late, I'll try and get back onto the Friday update schedule next week.


	6. Chapter 6

Jack's surprised when Pitch doesn't lead him to a car. Pitch seems like a __get driven everywhere __kind of guy, and Jack wouldn't have minded another back seat make-out session in the slightest. Instead Pitch leads him past the museum and out onto Central Park West. The trees are skeletal and tourists are like zombies with cameras, shuffling around dead-eyed and jet-lagged.

"So, where is your place?" Jack asks after a few blocks, and Pitch gestures.

"Right here."

Jack stares up, wide-eyed at the elegant, nine-storey building that bristles with fancy architectural features that rightly belong on fancy European castles rather than a New York City apartment building.

"The Dakota," Jack says. "No fucking way you live at the Dakota."

"You don't strike me as a Lennon fanboy."

"Not really. But – man, it's the __Dakota___. _When I was a kid I used to dream of sneaking in here – I used to think it looked like a haunted castle or something. But not even Ben and my dad know anyone who lives here."

"Well, now you do," Pitch says, pausing to look at Jack for a long moment before leading him inside. Jack gawks as they go through the courtyard. Up on the fifth floor, Jack stares around at the hallways: venerable dark wood and the tiled floors. It's as elegant as Jack's building is gauche - the real thing rather than an imitation of elegance. As they pass doors to the other apartments, Jack wonders who's behind them, wonders if Pitch has any celebrity neighbours.

But then they stop and Pitch takes a set of keys from his pocket. Suddenly Jack remembers why he's here and feels suddenly shy. Slapping a cocky grin into place to hide it, Jack follows Pitch into the apartment.

Inside it's monochrome and modern, clean lines and straight edges. The only break in the black-and-grey colour way are occasional splashes of gold - a light fitting, a few photo frames. There's a pink plush unicorn on one of the armchairs and Jack is thrown for a moment until he remembers Pitch has a young daughter. The thought makes him slightly uncomfortable - the reminder of their age difference, of what he's getting into. But then he looks at Pitch's long legs that look fan_tas_tic in those jeans, and the discomfort melts away.

Slipping off his coat, Pitch puts it in the hall closet, and gestures for Jack to do the same. When Jack's hoodie is off, Pitch stares at Jack's arms – or rather, at his tattoos. Grey and blue frost markings, the kind that cover windows in a New York winter, cover both arms, shoulder to wrist. He got them partly for the prettiness, partly because of his name, but mostly to piss his dad off. It worked, too.

Pitch reaches for Jack's left arm, his fingers lightly tracing the swirls of frost inked into Jack's skin.

"It's beautiful," he murmurs, and with him looking at Jack with wonder and delight in his eyes, he __feels __beautiful. Not just the __not bad __he normally assigns himself, but genuinely beautiful. Important. Turning Jack's hand, Pitch kisses his wrist, right where the pale blue ink fades away. Jack makes a strangled noise, and Pitch smirks at him.

His hand still around Jack's wrist, he pulls him into the living room, pushes him down onto the black leather sofa.

"Now," Pitch says, taking a seat by Jack's side. "Tell me what you want."

"What?"

"I prefer to be in control in the bedroom. But I also like to give my partners what they want. Everything they want."

"Well, that's good," Jack croaks, and clears his throat. He flashes a smile. "Because I want everything."

"Then where shall we start?"

Jack thinks, trying to imagine what someone with Pitch's __proclivities __might want. To tie him up? Maybe a little roleplay, or spanking, or-

"Tell me what you want," Pitch says him softly, and leans in. "Would you like me to jerk you off? To blow you?" When he reaches a hand over to squeeze Jack's cock, Jack tries to yelp and moan at the same time. Both of those sound good, really good, but-

"You said you liked kinky stuff-"

"And I do, but something a little more vanilla is usually best for the first time. So tell me, Jack: what can I do for you?"

Jack stares up at Pitch, the slightly crooked smile and utter confidence in his face turning Jack on to a ridiculous degree. Licking his lips, he manages to whisper, "Blow me."


	7. Chapter 7

Pitch's smirk might be infuriating if Jack wasn't so turned on. His fingers linger on Jack's cock for another moment before they pull away. Jack's tempted to grab his hand and put it back where it belongs, but then Pitch slides to the floor, pushing Jack's thighs apart and nestling between them. Jack's thoughts become one long __eeeeeeeee __of white noise.

"Now then," Pitch purrs, looking up at Jack. "I'm sure you're going to be just __delicious__."

"Uh huh."

Another smirk. "Oh, do you speak from experience? Have you tasted yourself, Jack?"

"Uh huh-" he licks his lips. "Y-yeah. Once or twice."

"I might make you taste yourself now," Pitch muses. "Would you like that?"

"I'd like __anything__. But please, c'mon. I- I'm so hard."

"I can tell." Pitch runs a hand over Jack's cock. The touch sends urgent spikes of pleasure hurtling through Jack and he clenches his jaw.

Oh god, he doesn't want to come as quickly as last night. What will Pitch think of him? Then again, if Pitch is going to be the one in top - and Jack's almost certain that he is -then it doesn't really matter if Jack comes early or not. Pitch can still fuck him, use him even he's already come. Jesus but that's hot - the thought of Pitch fucking him while he's soft, having already come – making him hard again, making him come again.

"Oh god," Jack whispers, and then claps a hand over his mouth when he realises he said that out loud.

Reaching up, Pitch pulls the hand away. "Now, Jack. I want to hear you. Even if I don't understand quite why you made such a lovely sound. Tell me."

Jack pauses a moment too long, and Pitch squeezes his cock again.

"__Tell __me."

The pressure on his cock and that demanding tone in Pitch's voice make Jack dizzy - when the hell did being bossed about become a turn on?

"I was thinking how I want you to make me come - with your hand or your mouth or whatever. And then I want you to fuck me while I'm still soft. So - like, it's all about you. I'm only here for your pleasure. Um. And then I want to come again just from having you inside me."

The look Pitch gives him then could melt rocks, it's so hot.

"Well, gentleman that I am, I'm going to give you what you want."

Jack lets out a slow, shaky breath as Pitch undresses him: Chucks and socks first, then he unzips his jeans. Always obliging, Jack lifts his hips up off the couch so Pitch can slide the jeans off along with his boxers. Jack whips his own t-shirt off and then Pitch gazes at him, fully naked, for a long time. Such scrutiny might make Jack feel nervous if it wasn't for the almost worshipful look in Pitch's eyes.

Finally he decides to do more than just look.

Pitch curls his hand around Jack's cock, and Jack looks down to see those long, tan fingers around him. His hand's big enough that only the head of Jack's cock is visible above his fingers and damn it looks good.

It looks even better when they move with firm, even strokes. Apparently Pitch is a hand-job master, and Jack's hands curl into fists, nails digging into his palms, hoping the pain will distract him from how fucking __good __it feels.

"That's right, Jack," Pitch purrs. "You keep your hands right there on the cushions. I'm going to suck you now and you are __not __to move your hands. Got that?"

"Yessir," Jack gasps, and Pitch's eyes widen slightly. He gives a crooked grin that's almost creepy but it isn't, it's _hot_, so damn hot, and Jack doesn't even know what his thoughts are doing anymore.

Pitch leans in and laps at the head of Jack's cock, holding eye contact as he slides his tongue across Jack's slit.

"Shit, fuck," Jack gasps, and Pitch continues just as slowly, licking a stripe up the underside, leaving a trail of wet kisses up the length and basically doing everything possible to drive Jack crazy. At one point he closes his eyes, thinking it might be a little easier if he can't see it happening - block out at least one source of ridiculous hotness - but Pitch orders him to open them again.

He does it immediately.

Pitch rewards his obedience by wrapping his lips around the head of Jack's cock, sliding them lower, bobbing his head and taking an inch deeper at a time. Jack begins to curse as the pleasure builds inside him like a knot being pulled tighter and tighter. The slick sounds of Pitch's mouth on him make him whimper, the heat of him, oh god, oh god please-

He's trying to hold on, he's trying so hard. He bites down on his bottom lip until he tastes copper, feels a tear track down his cheek.

"Oh god I'm gonna come, please-"

Pitch has Jack's whole length in his mouth and then squeezes his balls and _oh fuck_-

Jack yells out as he comes, Pitch getting the first bit in his mouth and them stroking Jack through it.

Jack shakes as the orgasm washes over him, is ripped from him and then keeps going, until he's shaking and spent and empty.

"Oh god oh god," Jack whispers and he's sobbing a little too, Jesus fuck what was that, what is this? He can't seem to slow his breathing, or stop shaking.

"That was good, Jack, you were good," Pitch murmurs, sliding onto the couch beside him, kissing his forehead and pulling him close.

"Oh fuck," Jack says, his voice shaking as badly as he is. He's panicking a little – he's never reacted like this before, never, and tears are still streaming down his cheeks and he can't stop them. "Fuck, I'm sorry, I- I don't know what's wrong with me-"

"It's alright, Jack," Pitch says, wiping his hands on his jeans and pulling Jack into a hug. "It's alright; you're just feeling sensitive, that's all. But you were good, very good indeed."

He continues to hold Jack until he stops shaking, until whatever the hell that was eases off, leaving him feeling both exhausted and incredibly embarrassed.

He pulls away and wipes at his eyes. He daren't look at pitch, he doesn't want to know what he thinks of him.

"Do you want some water?" Pitch asks. "A blanket?"

"A- a blanket. Yeah. Please."

It's not that Jack's cold, it's the comfort of it, and maybe being covered up will make him feel a little less vulnerable. When Pitch stands Jack kind of wants to pull him back, not wanting to be left alone. But he stays his hand, watching intently as Pitch goes to the closet, comes back with a blanket and a towel. Wrapping the blanket over Jack's shoulders, Pitch carefully cleans him up, pressing kisses to his temple and cheek.

"There we are. How are you feeling?"

"I- I don't know." Jack wipes the last of the tears from his cheeks. "Kind of- exhausted, actually. I don't really- Fuck, what __was __that?"

"A little bit of subdrop, I think."

"What drop?"

"Subdrop. It can be an emotional response after a kink session. When you're feeling so __good __and then it stops, sometimes you just - crash. Crying, shaking. It's all completely normal."

Jack licks his lips. If he's going to feel like this after every single time then he's not sure he can keep doing this, no matter how good it felt. But then, he's done kinky stuff before and never had that reaction. And besides- "We weren't even doing anything weird."

"True. Sometimes it just happens and you don't know why. You don't even have to be doing anything kinky, anything submissive. Honestly, Jack, it's completely normal."

"But- if I can't handle even a fucking blowjob without feeling like that- I don't know. I've explored a bit of stuff before and I- I want to do other stuff with you. But shit, I don't want to feel like that again."

"We'll talk. Take it slow. Only do what you want. Stop the instant you say so." Pitch pauses. Jack can see how tight his jaw is, as though he really doesn't want to let these next words escape through his teeth. "If you want to stop right here - you can go and we never have to see each other again."

"No!" Jack reaches out to grab Pitch's hand. "No, I don't want that. Not at all. I just - I… I'm a bit scared. It was intense, you know? And I didn't want to disappoint you."

"Oh Jack," Pitch says, and shakes his head. "Let me assure you, you don't need to worry about that. Instead of worrying about whether you're doing things right, or whether I like it – let me be in control. All you have to do is relax and let me take care of you."

Jack looks at him for a long moment, and then leans against him, throwing the blanket over both of them so that they can cuddle properly.

"You - you're really okay with me freaking out? What if I freak out again?"

"Then we'll do __this __again, until you feel safe, until you feel comfortable."

They sit there on the sofa for a while, and Jack finds that he feels safe in Pitch's arms. Maybe he shouldn't – he barely knows the man – but he makes Jack feel _wanted, _and that means a hell of a lot_._

He's comfortable, maybe a little too comfortable, because the next thing he knows he's waking up.

He's lying down on the couch, his head in Pitch's lap, and when he shifts, Pitch moves his book aside so that he can smile down at Jack.

"Feeling better?"

"Uh – yeah." Jack's cheeks burn as he sits up, pulling the blanket around him to keep himself covered up and trying not to think of all the ways he's managed to make a fool of himself today. "I'm sorry about earlier-"

"I told you – there's no need to apologise," Pitch says, smiling at him fondly and running his fingers through Jack's hair. "Everything's fine."

"What time is it?"

"7pm. I was considering ordering Chinese if you'd like to join me?"

Jack looks at him. After all the drama he's managed to stir up, Pitch not only isn't kicking him out, he's asking him to stay for dinner. He allows a small, wary smile.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'd like that."

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much for your comments, favs and follows! It makes me so happy :3 Just to address a few comments that people have made: all of the chapters are going to be short - around 1000 words. I'm writing this like a comment fic - it's the only way that I can keep to a weekly schedule with all of my other commitments both in writing and in irl. So the chapters are going to stay short - but they're going to be frequent, too!


	8. Chapter 8

They sit with plates of egg rolls and sweet and sour chicken and watch Adventure Time - Jack's choice.

Pitch has loaned Jack a pair of pyjamas, a t-shirt and too-long trousers with the drawstring pulled tight. Although he still feels wrung out and jittery, it makes him feel better. Better even than his own clothes would. It comforts him, in a weird way. Like being looked after.

It's dark by the time Pitch clears the plates away, and then turns off the TV. He turns to face Jack, with a serious expression that makes anxiety patter inside him like rain.

"We need to talk," Pitch says, and Jack licks his lips.

"Uh. Look, I'm sorry, okay? I know - you probably don't need all this bullshit from someone you thought was just going to be a quick fuck, or-"

"Jack," Pitch says and takes Jack's hands. "Stop that. Stop assuming that I'm annoyed, or that I'm going to reject you. Listen to me."

Jack looks up then. Because that's not a command, which would piss him off. It's softer than that – more of a plea. Part of him still wants to run away - he doesn't want to feel like that again - but more of him wants to stay. To listen - and maybe understand.

"I should've talked to you before, instead of being - consumed - with how much I wanted you. But you're so young-"

"I'm not a kid."

"No, you're not. But you __are __young. And that was a mistake. You have no experience in this, and I should be __looking after__you."

"It was just a blow job, Pitch. You don't need to give a lecture in how to deal with a blowjob, because normal people don't freak out about stuff like that." Jack drags a hand through his hair. He can feel his hands shaking and he pulls them away from Pitch to pluck at the seam on his pyjama bottoms, hoping he didn't notice.

"Don't think of it as freaking out. It's not. You were just feeling sensitive - and god knows you had reason. Benard just tried to sell you. Not just a date but- God knows why your father didn't speak up."

Jack huffs a humourless laugh. "Yeah, my father doesn't give a shit what happens to me. It was probably his idea."

Pitch stares at him. "But you're his __son__."

"The son he never wanted. The son who killed his wife. Jesus, most of the time I don't even blame him for hating me."

"Jack - what are you talking about?"

Jack finds a loose thread in the trousers and tugs at it. "Mom wanted to keep me, Dad didn't - said they had enough kids. And she – died- giving birth-" Jack's heart is pounding in his chest and he realises that this is a really shitty thing to talk about. Just in general but especially to someone who's potential boyfriend material (although he can't ever see himself calling Pitch something as – sweet – as _boyfriend_). He wipes at his eyes, feeling heavy and sad.

Maybe he just shouldn't have come here. This thing with Pitch had promise, but nothing in Jack's life ever works out well. It's just best not to hope, not to put himself out there where he's only going to end up hurt with his heart ripped in two.

"God, Jack-"

"You know, I think I should go," Jack says, his voice wavering as he tries not to cry. He forces a smile into place. "Not to say that it hasn't been fun. I always enjoy making an idiot of myself in front of hot strangers." He picks up his clothes from the floor, considers putting them back on, decides it'll take too long. He needs to get _out_ of here. "I'll get someone to return your clothes-"

"Jack, wait, please. Just a few minutes."

Half of him wants to run and never look back, the other half sees a glimmer of hope in Pitch, and that scares him almost as much.

He sits back down, holding tightly onto his clothes, ready to bolt.

"I've scared you," Pitch says quietly. Jack shakes his head. "I have. Tell me what I've done wrong, please."

"It's nothing. It's not you. I'm just - I'm a mess. I've always been a mess."

"What your father says about your mother - you know that's not true, don't you?"

Jack gives an angry shrug. "She's dead because of me. My father, my brothers and sister - they lost her because of me."

"Jack-"

"You don't know anything about me. I don't need your false comfort, or-"

"It's not false, Jack. I want to help. And you're right. I don't know anything about you. But I want to."

"Nobody ever wants to know me. They want to - to fuck me. Or to be seen with me. But they don't want to __know __me."

"I do," Pitch says, and it's the simplicity with which he says it that makes Jack think that it might just be true. "I want to know you. I want to __protect __you. I know that I have a – less than sparkling reputation, but when it comes to the people I care about, I am __fiercely__protective. And no, I don't know you. But I do care for you. Let me look after you, Jack."

Pitch's reaction is so completely unexpected that Jack doesn't know what to think. He wipes at his eyes, feeling suddenly exhausted again. He rarely talks about his mother, his family. This is why. It makes him feel worthless, and exhausted, it makes his heart ache and his throat tighten until he can hardly breathe and doesn't know if he deserves to. And now there's Pitch's reaction, weighing against it.

Biting his lip, Jack shuffles closer on the sofa until he's pressed against Pitch. He curls up against him, wrapping his arms around his neck. He's always found comfort in touch, in hugs from Jamie and Kal, and if Pitch really wants to comfort him, he'll give him this.

It works.

Such a simple thing, but it works every time, as long as he trusts the person he's with. He moves onto Pitch's lap, rests his head against his neck. One of Pitch's hands rests on Jack's hip, the other on the back of his neck, stroking gently. Slowly Jack's anxieties drop away, one by one, with each gentle stroke of Pitch's fingers. He feels safe. Wanted. Calm, in a way he's rarely found.

Pitch just continues to hold him, knowing what Jack needs. He moves only to kiss the top of Jack's head.

Time passes strangely; Jack's not sure if it's been hours or only minutes, when he realises he's sleepy again.

"M tired," Jack breathes, and Pitch nods.

"Would you like to stay here?"

"Mmhmm."

Jack's already half asleep when Pitch eases him into a princess carry and takes him to a bedroom. The bed is large and comfortable, and when pitch closes the thick curtains it's pleasantly dark, the only light from the hallway outside. Jack crawls under the sheets and sighs, feeling comfortable in a way that goes far beyond a nice mattress.

"Sleep," Pitch murmurs and kisses him gently, and Jack is gone before he even closes the door.

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much for all your comments, favs and follows! Never underestimate how much that means to a writer - you keep me posting.


	9. Chapter 9

Jack wakes to a knock at the door and the smell of coffee.

Opening his eyes, he's confused for a moment – he has no idea where he is. Wood panelling, lots of books. Black bedsheets, __really __comfortable bed.

"Jack? Are you awake?"

Pitch. Pitch's place. All the memories of Jack's epic overreaction from the night before flood into his mind, and part of him wants to run away from the embarrassment. But another part of him, the part of him that's drawn to Pitch, wants to stay. Wants to explore.

"Yeah. I'm awake."

"Can I come in?"

"'Course you can."

Pitch opens the door, peering in, silhouetted against the bright light outside. He flicks on the light and comes over to Jack, perching on the edge of the bed.

"How are you feeling?"

Jack takes stock. Headache. Tired, still. "Like I'm hungover."

Pitch's lips thin and he takes Jack's hand. "I wish you could stay so that we could talk, but my daughter is coming to stay for a few days."

"It's okay," Jack says instantly, even as his heart sinks, and he scowls at himself. Obviously Pitch's daughter is more important to him than Jack – she's probably the most important person in Pitch's whole world, and so she should be. That's how __normal__families work.

"It's not," Pitch says with a sigh. "Come on. We can talk over breakfast."

After pulling on yesterday's clothes, Jack goes into the kitchen. Big and airy, large windows provide plenty of sunlight. There's a table at the side of the kitchen, where a coffee and a croissant await Jack. He tucks in, suddenly starving. Melancholy still makes his heart feel leaden, but he ignores it. It can wait until he's on his own. The last thing he wants is to have another breakdown in front of Pitch.

To distract himself, Jack watches Pitch cook. He's so elegant and at ease that it's almost a dance. Elegance Jack can do, but ease? Not in his skillset. Neither is cooking for that matter.

Not so for Pitch. In minutes, they're both sat with perfect, fluffy omlette set before them, stuffed full of cheese and finely cut mushrooms. They eat in silence, although it's not as uncomfortable as Jack feared. Both of them have things that they want to say, and there's a vast range of things that they need to talk about if they're going to continue this. But where should they start?

"What will you do with your day?" Pitch asks, and Jack tries not to wince at the small talk.

"I dunno. I'll probably hang out with a couple of friends."

"Good. You shouldn't be alone. I would have preferred that you stay here so that I can look after you, but-"

"I'm not a fragile flower, Pitch."

Pitch gives him a thin smile; Jack's not sure Pitch believes him, but then why should he? Jack doesn't believe himself.

When Pitch moves to clear the plates away, Jack insists on doing it. He might as well do __something __useful while he's here. And yeah, it might only be putting them in the dishwasher, but it's the thought that counts.

"I have something for you," Pitch says, and picks up a small pile of books from the counter. Jack glances at the spines: __SM 101; Screw the Roses, Send Me the Thorns___. _There are page-markers stuck liberally throughout. In between them is a folded sheet of paper with a number of websites written neatly in black ink. The unexpectedness of it makes Jack chuckle, and the laughter takes away the edge off of his tension.

"Homework?"

"Just a little. I thought it might help you to understand the way you reacted last night."

"I've given up on trying to understand I react the way I do," Jack says with a shrug. "It's usually pretty dumb."

"No, Jack," Pitch says, and kisses Jack gently. "It's not. Read them. I'll be busy with Seraphina over the next few days, but I'll be checking my phone in the evening. If you have any urgent questions, or if you need to talk, call me."

"It's okay. I'm used to figuring things out on my own." That sounds a lot more passive aggressive than Jack means for it to, and Pitch's expression grows pained.

"You don't have to work through things on your own anymore, Jack. I'm here for you - I mean it."

"Yeah, but __why?__You don't even know me – we met like a week ago. Why do you care?"

"Because I saw how you were treated and I want to protect you from that. That's – that's the reason that I respond to this," Pitch says, tapping the books. "I want someone to protect. You need someone to protect you. You see how we might be good for each other?"

"Maybe," Jack says softly. Precious few people are good for him, but maybe, just maybe, Pitch might be one of them.

Pitch walks Jack to the subway, and they stand at the top of the stairs, looking at each other. Jack knows Pitch is looking for some sign that Jack's about to lose it – again – so he pops a smile into place. He's surprised by how easy it is; almost like he doesn't even have to force it. Like with the laugh, it chips away a little more of his tension.

"Well," he says, tucking the books under his arm. "I guess this is goodbye. Or should that be __au revoir?__"

"How about we make a plan instead," Pitch says. "Lunch on Tuesday?"

Jack bites his lip as he thinks through his mostly-empty calendar. "Sure. I think I can fit you in."

A sweet but brief kiss goodbye both startles and pleases Jack. That Pitch is willing to pay attention to him like that in public – maybe he means what he says, that he really does want to look after Jack.

There's a skip in Jack's step as he heads down to the platform. Maybe something in his life is finally going right.


	10. Chapter 10

Still feeling lighthearted, Jack goes straight to Kal and Jamie's. Neither of them are home when he arrives, but it doesn't matter. The first thing they did when they moved in was give him a key, so he lets himself in and claims the sofa. He crawls under a blanket to watch Disney movies for the rest of the day, something sweet and easy that isn't going to spoil his mood.

Next thing he knows, Jamie's moving him gently, trying not to wake him and failing.

"You're lying on the remote," Jamie murmurs when he blinks sleepily up at him. Jack doesn't bother answering, just wraps his arms around Jamie's waist and clings like a limpet. His impromptu nap smothered him with melancholy, and now his thoughts are jangling with doubt. Did Pitch really want him? Is he angry with him? Does he really want to see him again?

Since there's not much else he can do, Jamie rests a hand on Jack's head, playing with his hair. Jack sighs and snuggles closer, breathing in the fresh-laundry scent of his friend. "You wanna talk about it?"

If Jack knew why his mood suddenly plummeted, maybe there'd be something to talk about, but he's never been great at understanding his emotions, even worse at talking about them. He shakes his head and pulls the remote from his nest of blankets and starts Treasure Planet again.

Jamie knows him too well to ask any more questions. Instead he sits and lets Jack drape himself over him in an attempt to gain comfort by osmosis. They watch the movie and all the while Jamie refrains from asking questions. Jack is impressed. He didn't think he had that much patience.

Eventually though, that patience wears thin.

"So. I come home and you're here, clearly bummed out. I assume the date didn't go well?"

Jack stares at a bare patch of wall for long moments. "No. It went well. I'm not bummed out. I'm just… I reacted weirdly, and I don't know why, or what to do about it."

Another patient pause from Jamie that breaks after half a minute. "Weirdly how?"

"Well – he was giving me a blow job-"

"Geez, Jack, tmi-"

"And I just freaked out. Like – it was good. It was really good. And then I'm just __panicking __and-" Suddenly anxiety sinks little biting teeth in him and he breaks off. He breathes deep, trying to quash it. Jamie's used to this and he strokes Jack's back with one hand, squeezes Jack's hand with the other. The warm touch slowly quiets the anxiety, and Jack looks down at their joined hands, focusing on the tattered, months-old friendship bracelet on Jamie's wrist, the matching one on his own. "I panicked," Jack says, feeling detached from it all. "But Pitch helped me. He didn't even think I was weird for it. He didn't judge me. He understood"

"That's good. And he didn't do anything to make you panic?"

"No. You know me, Jamie. I don't need a reason."

Jamie sighs and strokes Jack's hair. "Jack…" He trails off, and when Jack looks up at him, a pensive frown is creasing his brow. Jack reaches up to smooth it, and Jamie looks down at him with half a smile. "Sometimes I wish it had worked out between us. So that I could have looked after you."

"You don't need to be sleeping with me to look after me, Jamie. You do it all the time."

Jamie's phone starts to ring. Jack glances at it and sees *Mom* flashing up on the screen. He lets it ring, and Jack gestures at it.

"You best answer it."

"She'll just be checking that I'm getting ready. It's Gramma's birthday, she always likes to see me in a suit."

"She's not the only one," Jack says lightly, but there's not much humour in it. He'd forgotten that Jamie had plans. Forgotten too that Kal is out of town, visiting his folks. He doesn't really want to be alone, and there isn't anyone else he can turn to.

The phone stops ringing, and Jack sits up, swallowing a sigh. He glances around to see where he kicked off his Chucks, sees his hoodie pooled under the coffee table. As he reaches for it, Jamie puts his hand on Jack's knee.

"You don't have to go. I can cancel. Or maybe you can come."

"Don't make me sound like even more of a trainwreck than I am," Jack says with a grin, getting to his feet and stretching to work the kinks of his spine. "Go. Tell everyone I said hi, and tell your gramma happy birthday."

"Jack," Jamie says, but that's as far as he gets. He stands and looks very seriously at Jack. "If you need me, call me. I'll leave straight away. Any time. I'm worried about you."

"There's no need to worry. No more than usual, anyway."

Jamie sighs and hugs Jack tightly. "That's not much comfort."

* * *

When Jack gets back to his dad's place, it's empty and freezing cold. He sees his breath when he sighs, and wonders if his dad even checked if Jack was home before turning the heat off.

Switching it on is the first thing he does, followed by throwing a pizza in the oven and opening a bottle of wine, because there is no finer way to spend an evening alone than getting drunk and overloading on carbs. He pours the wine into a beer glass and then goes to his room to look at the books Pitch gave him. He flicks to the index and reads the bit about rope bondage. As he reads he feels a deep urge rising in him, spilling over like a boiling pot. He wants to feel rope against his skin, binding him, keeping in place all those parts of him that want to fly off in a hundred directions. More importantly, he wants Pitch to put those ropes on him. He wants Pitch to show him that he doesn't need to worry; that Pitch will look after him. That Pitch is in control. He wants to hear Pitch tell him what a good boy he is, wants to feel wanted and safe and like he belongs somewhere for once in his life.

Melancholy and longing are a tug-of-war in Jack's chest as he looks down at the book, the letters a blur of black and white. Is he putting too much faith in Pitch? Is he reading too much into the way Pitch treated him?

The timer for the pizza jerks him out of his downward spiral. He puts on Netflix while he eats and grabs his phone and sends a text with greasy fingers.

__I've been reading the books. Interesting stuff.__

Jack doesn't get an answer back straight away, not for two whole episodes of Futurama. It's plenty of time for him to worry that Pitch isn't interested in him after all, and it's embarrassing how quickly he grabs his phone when the message tone rings out.

**_Pitch:_**

__What do you find most interesting?__

Jack chews his lip. All of it, he wants to say. And I want to explore it all with you. God, I want you to look __after __me. He considers sending an absolutely filthy response before remembering that Pitch has his daughter with him. Probably not the best start to a relationship.

_The rope stuff. When can we meet up?_

Pitch's response is lightning fast this time. __Tomorrow evening. 7pm. The coffee shop.__

Jack laughs and feels all of his anxiety melt away. Looks like there's no need to worry that Pitch isn't interested. __Thought you said Tuesday?__

__Apparently I can't wait. Can you make it?__

__Definitely. Hope your having a good weekend with your daughter.__

Pitch sends a simple _Thank you. Have a good evening_, and Jack falls back, and Jack falls back with a grin, clutching his phone to his chest like a lovesick teenager.

* * *

A/N: Sorry I didn't upload last week! I've been really ill. As ever, thank you so so much for your favs, follows and comments, you're all amazing.


	11. Chapter 11

Jack wishes he'd suggested they meet at a bar instead. His nerves are jingle-bell-jangling and alcohol would help with that a hell of a lot more than coffee.

The only thing that helps is watching the snow; thick gentle flakes pirouetting through the darkness. His window-seat was occupied by the red-haired woman last time. He remembers his story for her: that she was seeing where she fit into the city before calling it home. It seems appropriate for him, too. While Jack's always lived in New York, it's never really been __home__. Not that warm, fuzzy sitcom version of home, anyway. It's been a place he's lived. A place haunted by his mother, where every sibling-smile is accompanied by memories of their mother that he can never share, leaving him feeling more a ghost than she is.

Jack's never really fit into the jigsaw puzzle of this city, but maybe he's just been trying to fit in the wrong places. A city like this, there's got to be somewhere he belongs.

Maybe that somewhere is an apartment on the fifth floor of the Dakota.

Jack rolls his eyes at his thoughts. He doesn't bother telling himself he's only known Pitch a few days; he's been reminding himself on the hour, every hour all weekend and it's not done much good yet. The best thing to do it just roll with it, he's decided. Or tried to decide.

When the door opens Jack feels a one-two punch of panic and relief to see Pitch walk in. Today's outfit is a woollen greatcoat and fitted trousers – all black, of course. Those same battered Docs that could really do with a good polish. Snowflakes like stars against his dark hair. Jack's throat feels a little tight as he shoves a smile into place.

"Hey," he says, lifting a hand in a wave. Pitch's eyes find him and Jack's throat tightens a little more. __Please don't let me screw up again.__

"Hello," Pitch says, and shrugs off his coat. Beneath he's wearing a black sweater that clings to his arms, emphasises his lean strength. "How are you feeling?"

"Nervous," Jack says. There doesn't seem to be much point hiding it. Pitch pauses, his hands on the back of his chair, before excusing himself to go and get a drink. It feels good to be honest, Jack realises. So used to wearing masks everywhere, honesty is a novelty.

"So," Pitch says when he returns with a coffee, starkly black against the white mug. "Why are you nervous?"

Jack shrugs, swirling his coffee clockwise. "Because…" He decides to keep up with the honesty. "Because I don't know what you want from me. Because I don't know what I want from you. Because I've been reading those books and some of it sounds awesome and some of it sounds scary and some of it sounds both-" He pauses to take a breath, and Pitch puts a hand over his. His fingers are warm from being wrapped around his coffee mug. Jack's words flutter away like butterflies.

"Let's start with what I want, because that's something I can tell you. As much as I want you, I think we need to take it slowly – no, Jack, let me speak. I think we need to take it slowly because this isn't just about sex. Not for me, anyway. I'm surprised by how much you've affected me, so quickly. It's not often that I take anyone back to my apartment."

"It isn't?"

"No. But before you start to worry, I definitely plan on taking you back there again. Although perhaps not today."

"No?" Even Jack couldn't say if that's disappointment or relief in his voice.

"I was thinking we could go and watch a film."

Not what Jack was expecting, but he'll take it.

The dark helps, and the popcorn-and-candy cinema scent is familiar enough to smooth down the edges of his anxiety. Before the trailers are even over, Jack has relaxed enough to glance at Pitch's hand on the armrest and wait only a few seconds before he takes it, sliding his fingers between Pitch's.

Pitch glances at him, pleasantly surprised, and Jack grins up at him.

"This was a good idea," he whispers as the title spreads over the screen like an oil spill.

"Of course," Pitch says, and gives him a brief kiss, lingering to bite his bottom lip before sitting back to focus on the screen. Jack watches him for another moment before resting his feet on the chairback in front of him, settling into his seat for two hours of explosions with Pitch's palm warm against his.


	12. Chapter 12

When the film ends, the snow is still falling. Mostly it's a slushy mess, but in the park beside the cinema its piling up, virgin white. Jack pushes aside an urge to run through it, to make his mark, to be seen.

A childish thought and he shoves it away. He's embarrassed himself enough already.

"You got any smokes?" He asks, and Pitch pulls a pack from the depths of his greatcoat, along with a heavy silver lighter. Jack lights up and Pitch takes one for himself. The burning embers make strange shadows dance over his face. Jack just stares at him for a long moment, unable to look away. What is it about pitch that affects him like this? He's never met anyone that makes him feel this way, thank god.

"Do you smoke often?" Pitch asks, and the smoke curls in the cold air as he breathes out.

"Not really," Jack says. "But there's something comforting about it."

"You need comforting right now? Was the thrilling conclusion of the movie a bit much for you?"

"Actually, I was going to ask if you'd take me home with you," Jack says.

Pitch stops. When Jack glances back, he is completely still, his expression almost blank save for how tense his jaw is. That makes Jack nervous, makes him wonder what he's done wrong, the way he __always __manages to do something wrong.

"I just want you," Jack says, almost angry. "And I want to make it up to you, after last time-"

"And that's why I want to take this slowly, Jack. There's nothing to make up for. You didn't do anything wrong. I need you to understand that before we take this further."

"But-"

"If you feel so strongly, you can wait a little longer. Would you rather have a one night stand or a relationship?"

"I want - I just _want_, Pitch." Jack hangs his head and clenches his jaw, trying to find the words but it's like casting a net into an empty sea.

"I know. And that's why I want to wait. You're so - _r___aw__. When I look at you I can see how much you want me. How much you __need___ – _something. I want to know if that something is me." Pitch takes Jack's jaw in his hand and tilts his head up. "I could take you. I could make you mine, and mine alone." There's rough edges around his voice and his hand tightens on Jack's jaw, only breaths away from pain. He drops his hand and closes his eyes. "I want to do it, Jack. But I won't. In the end it would be terrible for both of us."

"Why?"

Pitch opens his eyes and they're like liquid gold. "Because it would make me a monster."

Jack shakes his head, not understanding. "What next, then?"

"We get to know each other. And when we do start getting intimate we do it slowly. Carefully."

Jack wants to tell Pitch __no, now___,_ but if he does then he might drive Pitch away. Or he might not, and Jack's not sure which is scarier.

"Alright," Jack mutters and puts his hands on his hips. "So what now?"

Pitch darts forward and kisses Jack on the lips. It's like he means for it to be a quick thing but then his hands go to Jack's waist, he presses close and the kiss deepens slowly, deliciously, leaving Jack gasping and hard.

"Now," Pitch says, breathless. "You go home. I go home. We meet again on Thursday for lunch."

Jack nods wordlessly, not trusting himself to speak. Just when he'd resigned himself to having to do the whole dating thing to please Pitch he does _that_ and Jack's never wanted to be on his knees sucking cock so much.

"Sweet Revenge in the Village. Google it and meet me there."

Jack nods, and then after one more swift kiss Pitch is gone.

* * *

Pitch doesn't take him home on Thursday, nor the Tuesday after. The whole dating thing is fun, and he gets to know Pitch better, which is the point - unless the point is to force Jack to wait, which it might be, since Pitch showed himself to be an epic pricktease on their very first date.

But it makes him sure that he likes Pitch. He's smart, he's sharp and his humour is bone dry.

Jack likes his crooked smile, his confidence, and he's getting a little obsessed with those Doc Marten's. Their date tonight is an Italian place not so very far from the Dakota, and Jack hopes that's a good sign. But as the meal wraps up and the bill arrives, Pitch makes no sign of suggesting Jack go home with him, and there goes the last of Jack's patience.

"We can either go back to your place or I can give you a back alley blow job but __something __needs to happen."

Pitch pauses as if thoughtful, but he doesn't try very hard to hide his smile, nor the heat behind it. "Very well, Jack. But first, we need to talk."

They go dutch on the bill and head out into the cold. The snow on the ground is turning to slush, but Jack thinks it will snow again. The night has a hushed feel to it, and the promise of snow is a whisper in the air.

When they head over towards Pitch's place, Jack has to fight not to grin like an idiot. Pitch said talk, he reminds himself, over and over. If something else happens, great – better than great, awesome – but he really shouldn't get his hopes up.

He can tell himself that all he wants. It doesn't work. His hopes are sky high, about level with the Chrysler building.

By the time they're in the elevator in the Dakota, Jack's practically bouncing off the walls, both hands curled into fists and fingernails digging into his palms in an attempt to focus himself, to reel in all his whirling thoughts and hopes.

Pitch goes into the apartment first. It's dark. The only illumination is the streetlights streaming in through the open curtains. Pitch doesn't turn on the main light; instead he moves smoothly across the space, and Jack stands in the doorway, blinking as he tries to get used to the dimness. Pitch switches on a lamp; mood lighting, Jack thinks, and grins.

"Come in, Jack."

Jack pauses for another moment. He trusts Pitch. He does. But there's something – symbolic – about stepping into this apartment. Crossing a threshold. He feels the weight of it, although he's not entirely sure what __it __is. Making a decision, maybe. Choosing to pursue this thing with Pitch. Getting more serious about kink and the way it makes him feel; the way it __could __make him feel.

He steps forward.

Pitch is sitting in an armchair in front of the lamp. It casts him in shadow and makes him little more than a silhouette. Jack can tell that his hands are resting on the arms of the chair, that he's sitting up straight. He can't see much of Pitch's face, but he can see the flash of his eyes as he watches Jack approach.

Jack perches on the edge of the sofa, not sure what's expected of him. When Pitch doesn't say anything, Jack slides back, puts his arms on the back of the sofa, feigning comfort. He grins at Pitch.

"So, we going to have some fun?"

"We're going to talk. As I said. And first of all, you're going to tell me about your experience."

"Uh." Jack crosses his legs, and wishes he had a beer. "The kinky stuff?"

"All of it. I want to know what you've done; what you've liked, what you didn't like. I want to know what you want me to do to you."

"O-okay."

"And then I'm going to tell you what __I __want."

* * *

A/N: As ever, thank you so so much for the reviews, favs and follows. I hope you're still enjoying the story, because I'm sure enjoying writing it :D


	13. Chapter 13

There's a long pause before Jack can bring himself to say anything. He's not entirely sure why Pitch wants him to talk about this. Maybe it's the whole talking dirty thing – Jack doesn't have any experience with that and doesn't think he'll be much good at it. But the way Pitch is looking at him, god, he can barely see his expression in the dim lamplight, but what he can see is enough to pin him to the sofa. If this is what Pitch wants, he's going to do his damned best. He licks his lips and gives the world's most pathetic laugh.

"So - what, you wanna know everything? Well, I had my first kiss when I was about six, my cousin grabbed me at a wedding-"

"I want to hear your sexual experiences," Pitch interrupts, calm and smooth and jesus, just __listening __to that voice is a sexual experience. "Have all your experiences been with men?"

"Uh. Yeah."

"Then tell me about your first time. A hand job? A bow job?"

Jack purses his lips as he breathes out, and slouches back against the sofa, trying and failing to get comfortable. He sits forward again, upright. Somehow he feels like Pitch would appreciate good posture. "It - it was one of my friends. It was his birthday, we'd kind of been drinking and - he kissed me and– Well, you know."

"No, I don't. I want you to tell me. That's the whole point."

"You're getting off on this, aren't you?"

"Yes. I am," Pitch says and his smile shows teeth. It burns through Jack's embarrassment and suddenly he wants to do anything Pitch asks.

"I'd liked him for ages, he liked me, but it was the first time we kissed. And - it got pretty hot. He ended up on top of me on the sofa - our other friends were in the next room watching TV. He touched me. Through my jeans. And I thought - well. I'm gonna go one better. So I unzipped his pants and pulled him out. Played with him. Made him come."

A pause. "Just with your hand?"

"Yeah."

Pitch looks thoughtful and then crosses his ankles. Something about it reminds Jack of his therapist. For a moment Jack is annoyed at that thought – he doesn't want to think of that now – but unerringly his thoughts swing back to sex. A bit of roleplay; yeah, Jack could be into that. Not therapist, though. Doctor and patient. Pitch in a white coat. Jack in stirrups.

"And have you done anything else with this friend?"

"Sure." Jack doesn't really want to talk about Jamie. He's still one of the most important people in Jack's life, and it can't be reduced down to just sex. "But uh - no kinky stuff."

"No? Tell me about that, then."

"The first time… The first time was with one of my brother's friends. I ran into him in a bar. I thought for sure that he'd tell North, or shove me in a taxi home. But he - looked at me. The way you look at me."

"The way I look at you?" The words are teasing, demanding an answer that Pitch is already well aware of.

"Intense. Like you want to tie me up and do everything to me."

"Oh, I __do___,_ Jack," and if Jack wasn't already hard he damn well is now. "But finish your story: what did your brother's friend do to you?"

"He took me home. We were both kinda tipsy but he whispered in my ear – said I was a bad boy and that I needed a good spanking. And – I said he should. I said _yes please. _So he put me over his knee and – well. My ass was black and blue the next day."

Pitch shifts, and Jack wonders if his cock is straining against his zipper the same way Jack's is. The light's too dim to tell, but he likes to think so. Likes to think that Pitch wants him just as much as Jack wants Pitch. "Did you like that?"

"You're looking at me like that again, Pitch. And yeah. I did. I was so hard – so _hard," _he adds, because if Pitch is getting off on this then Jack's going to play up to it, "Just from being spanked. And then he told me to get on my knees and suck him off. He came almost straight away," Jack adds with a frown.

"You didn't like that he came so soon?"

"No. I was just getting into it. Spoiled my fun."

"You like sucking cock?"

"God yeah."

Pitch's hand drops down to squeeze his own cock and Jack sucks in a breath. It takes every ounce of willpower not to go over there and drop to his knees. But no - if Pitch is in charge here, then Jack will wait for the order.

"Good to hear."

"Then he told me to get naked and jerk myself off." Jack strips off his hoodie as if emphasising his point, and Pitch's eyes roam Jack's tattoos hungrily. His hands tighten on the arms of the chair like it's an effort to keep them there, like he wants to touch, and Jack wishes he would.

"And did you?"

"'Course I did. I would have exploded if I didn't."

"And did you like him watching you?" Pitch cocks his head and raises an eyebrow. His expression is cool but even in the twilit room Jack can see the heat that simmers in his eyes. It makes it kind of hard to breathe. He shifts in his seat, trying to get some relief from the tightness of his trousers. It doesn't work at all and the friction makes him give a quiet gasp.

"Yeah," he manages. "I did."

Pitch nods, as though he's digesting this new information; he looks to the side, thoughtful for a moment. Jack realises that he finds everything about Pitch fascinating and deeply attractive: every expression, every movement, every goddamn stitch on his clothes.

"What's your favourite position, Jack? If I were to fuck you, right now, how would you like it?"

"I like - on my back." Jack's voice is hoarse and he feels dizzy. Can you get dizzy from being the hardest you've ever been in your life, he wonders vaguely. "On my back. So I can look up at my - at the other person."

Pitch practically purrs. "And do you want to get on your back for me, Jack?"

"God, yes."

"And how about on your knees?"

"_Yes_."

Pitch looks thoughtful for a moment and then crooks his finger at Jack. "Then come here."


	14. Chapter 14

Jack goes over to Pitch like he's being reeled in. Standing before him he wavers a little, not sure whether he's supposed to kneel now or what.

"So, Jack," Pitch says, head tipped back slightly so that he can look up at him. "You want me?"

"That's what I've been __saying___._" Desperation has crept into his voice, sharpening his words. Pitch only smiles.

"Indeed it is. Repeatedly. And I have to say, Jack, it's quite the ego boost."

"I know you keep saying we need to talk but there's a limit to how much talk I can handle."

"Oh? Then I suppose we should get on with things. On my knee, Jack."

"On - on your knee-? Do – do you mean-"

Before Jack can fumble himself into an early death, diagnosis: embarrassment, Pitch grabs his waist and pulls him down to sit on his lap, arranging him so his ass is on Pitch's thighs, his legs dangling over the arm of the chair. Pitch strokes a hand down Jack's thigh before resting it on his hip, supporting him, and Jack lets out a slow, shaky breath.

They're close, so close that Jack can see that Pitch has one white eyelash amongst the black; can see the sunburst of gold in his grey eyes. The fine wrinkles under his eyes and the wickedness in his smile.

He kisses Jack, just once.

"We're going to take this slowly," Pitch says, bestowing another kiss. "And if you start to feel the way you did the other day, you tell me. We'll use a safe word of your choice."

Jack tries to think, though Pitch sprinkling him with kisses - tip of his nose, eyelids, chin - is most distracting. Safe words… The guy who used to tie him up used them; a red-yellow-green system. Nice and simple. And honestly, Jack's not sure he can handle anything more complicated. Horny Jack is not smart Jack and he's already shaking, already hard.

"Red to stop, green to keep going," he says, and Pitch kisses his lips. "And yellow to slow down, right?"

"Excellent." The kisses go lower, to his neck, before fleetingly returning to his lips. Jack's hands curl in Pitch's shirt. "Next question: what do you want tonight?"

"Uh." Jack shifts, ever so slightly, but it's enough for him to be very aware that these butterfly kisses are doing a very good job of keeping him achingly hard, and that perhaps these skinny jeans were not a good idea, however hot his ass looks in them. "Your cock in my mouth would be nice."

"Is that so." Pitch looks at him as the hand on his waist moves under his shirt to skim over his skin. Jack jerks; the slight touch after all this teasing is like a static shock. Pitch's hand stills. "A colour, Jack."

"Green." He breathes out and then leans in, his own kiss introducing a hint of tongue.

"So," Pitch says, answering Jack's kiss with one of his own; with a tug on Jack's hair and fingernails digging into his skin, neither enough to really hurt. It's more a promise of what Jack can have if he wants, and he does. He really does. This time the kiss lingers long enough for them to lose themselves in each other; the only sound in the room the slickness of their lips, and quickness of their breath. "What else do you want, Jack?"

"I want - I want-" Pitch's hand slides under Jack's shirt again, a simple thumb over his hipbone, and Jack jerks against him. "Everything, everything. But I want it now. I want you in charge so that - so that I can just enjoy it. I want to know you'll look after me."

"I will, Jack. In every way." Another kiss, and then Pitch's warm fingertips trace the edge of Jack's tattoo, where the ink fades away at his wrist.

"Please, Pitch," he whispers. "Please. I just - I want to know what you taste like."

"Alright." Without warning Pitch puts his arms under Jack and then stands, holding him in a princess carry. Jack yelps and puts his arms around Pitch's neck for support, huffing a laugh and smiling. He could get used to this.

Pitch carries him into the bedroom. It's as minimalist as the rest of the apartment - grey walls, dark carpet, black-and-white photos in black frames. He doesn't take much notice of the décor because in the middle of the room is the huge bed, a dark wooden four-poster.

Expectation ratchets up inside Jack as Pitch sets him down on the mattress, stroking a finger down his jawline before stepping backwards. Jack stays perfectly still and watches with wide eyes as Pitch undresses slowly, feeling like any movement will change Pitch's mind about giving Jack what he wants.

First the shirt comes off, revealing a slim, strong body. His skin is golden brown with a few pale scars cross-crossing his belly and arms. A dark line of hair peeks out from his waistband and Jack bites down on his lip, hard, lest he make a sound. The belt next, fine black leather; the top button of his jeans, then the zip, and it's too damn slow, but Jack still doesn't dare move, not even when Pitch meets his eye and smirks at him.

"Fancy helping me with my boots, Jack?"

Jack moves then. It doesn't even involve conscious thought. Jack was on the bed and then suddenly he's on his knees, plucking at Pitch's laces, running a hand down the leather. Pitch's hand rests gently in his hair and the need to please Pitch is a glowing ember in Jack's stomach. Boots off, then socks, and Pitch lets Jack help him get rid of the tight jeans, too. Now all that's left are tight black briefs, tented by Pitch's impressive hard-on. Jack wants to touch but he hasn't had permission yet; no, it's more than that. He's still scared that this is too good to be true. That if he tries to touch he'll wake up, alone, like always. But Pitch smells of the promise of sex, and Jack has to dig his nails into his thighs to stop himself from touching. He can be patient. He __can___._

Finally Pitch makes a move, sliding the briefs off and down, bending to remove them and kissing Jack on the forehead while he's bent over.

Jack swallows as he looks at Pitch's cock. He's big. Not porn-star-big, but still impressive. Still bigger than anything Jack's ever seen in real life.

He glances up at Pitch to see him smiling down.

"Do you have a colour for me, Jack?"

"Green," he whispers. "Definitely green."

* * *

A/N: Sorry about the lack of chapter last week! I was in a hotel whose wifi wasn't working *sadface* To make up for it, there's two chapters this week! Hope you like it. As ever, thank you so SO much for your support, you're all wonderful *hearts*


	15. Chapter 15

_I can do this._

Jack gives good blow jobs. He's been told as much by pretty much every guy he's given one to. So what's with this sudden spike of nerves?

_Just start,_ Jack tells himself, and with a leap of courage he wraps a hand around the base of Pitch's cock. The skin is so hot, he's so hard; Jack bites his lip as want barrels through him, squeezing his throat and rattling around in his ribcage before diving lower. Pitch gives an _mmm_, either approval or pleasure. Maybe both. It _will_ be both, Jack tells himself, and leans forward to lap at the head of Pitch's cock. He looks up at the same time to see Pitch's eyes widen as he sucks in a sharp breath.

It's a good start, Jack decides, and continues to lap at the head, getting it slick before sliding his lips down it. He looks up again and Pitch is looking down at him, a half-grin curving his lips. Whether he likes what he sees or just the feel of it, Jack's not sure, but he keeps at it, glancing up frequently to see Pitch still watching him, entranced. Jack's heart starts to race. He loves the attention; always has. He makes a show of it; reaches down to his own cock where it's trapped in his jeans still and squeezes. His moan is muffled by Pitch's cock in his mouth, and so is the next one when Pitch pulls his hair.

Jack pulls back, gasping, and Pitch lets go instantly.

"I'm sorry, Jack-"

"No, no. It's good. It's all good. I just – I really like that." He licks his lips and grins up at Pitch, feeling a little embarrassed. "The hair pulling thing – I guess you could say that it's one of my kinks."

Pitch raises an eyebrow and then reaches for Jack's hair again. He pauses, waits for Jack's nod. When he gets it, he tugs and Jack whines, shivering, reaching for Pitch's hip without thinking about it.

"Interesting," Pitch says, and shifts to stroke Jack's hair instead. "I'll remember that. I daresay we could have all kinds of fun with it."

"I daresay you're right. But I was kind of in the middle of something."

"Oh, I do apologise for taking you away from your important task," Pitch says with a laugh, and gives Jack a fond smile that makes his heart hurt, just a little.

Jack starts again, throwing himself into it before he can do something stupid like start overthinking things. He licks Pitch's cock eagerly, making the whole shaft slick before taking the head into his mouth. He likes that, the weight of it on his tongue. That's one of his favourite things about giving head, but the the thing he likes best is deep-throating. It took a lot of practice to get good at it, and it drives most guys crazy. Pitch would be one of those guys, Jack thinks; the kind of guy that would get off on seeing Jack take all of him. Probably even fucking his mouth. Yeah. Yeah, Pitch would definitely like that.

Squeezing his own throbbing cock, a silent promise of _later, _Jack starts to slide his lips down Pitch's cock. Slowly he takes more and more, inch by inch, until it hits the back of his throat.

He glances up to Pitch grinning, though he's open-mouthed and breathing hard.

"God, Jack. You really do love this, don't you? And you're _good_ at it. Fuck," he adds breathlessly as Jack starts to move, thrusting his mouth onto Pitch's cock. Pitch rests his hands in Jack's hair but doesn't do any more than that. It occurs to Jack amid the haze of horniness that Pitch is being respectful; Jack's said he wants to concentrate on what he's doing, and Pitch is respecting that. That's kind of hot, Jack thinks, and squeezes his cock through his jeans again, just once, before giving his all to the blowjob, deep-throating Pitch again, again, closing his eyes because seeing Pitch looking at him like _that _is just too much-

And then Pitch is coming, right in Jack's mouth and the feel and taste and the knowledge that he's made Pitch come in a matter of minutes is almost too much.

The only sound in the room is Pitch's harsh breathing, rapid-pace gasps that start to deepen and slow as he strokes Jack's hair. Jack stays where he is, on his knees. He digs his nails into his palms, anything to take his mind off it, cool him down.

"I wasn't planning for that to happen quite so quickly," Pitch says after a moment, still breathing hard. He runs a hand through his hair and then looks measuringly down at Jack. "Are you alright, Jack?"

"Yeah." Honestly, he's a little nervous. Now that he has nothing to concentrate on he feels a little anchorless. He reaches for Pitch's hip again, and the touch helps. Pitch is real, he's here. He's not going anywhere, he honestly cares about Jack. It's all okay. "Yeah," he says again, more confident this time. "Green."

"Wonderful. Now, what to do with you?"

"What do you _want_ to do with me?"

Pitch laughs, delighted. "Oh Jack. It'd be quicker to ask me what I _don't_ want to do with you. One of the things I love best is making my partners come." A hungry wolf grin. "As much as possible. In as many ways as possible and as many times as possible. Until they physically can't any more. How much do you think you can take, Jack?"

"As much as you're willing to give." Jack looks into Pitch's eyes, unflinching. He'll take everything, anything. A matter of proving himself; a matter of offering himself. Whatever Pitch wants, he'll take it.

Another pause, and then Pitch reaches down, tugging on Jack's shirt until he gets to his feet and then pushing him towards the bed.

"Whatever we're doing, lets do it lying down. I'm bloody knackered now." He pushes Jack onto his back and climbs on top of him. The weight of him makes Jack moan, and he digs his nails into Pitch's skin. He's too hard for this, too turned on. His thoughts are restless birds, constantly escaping him. All he can be certain of is that he's incredibly turned on and that he needs release. "I can feel how hard you are. Do you want me to make you come, Jack?" Jack nods, maybe a little too eagerly. "Tell me, Jack. Say it."

"I want you to make me come. Please. Pretty please." Jack flashes a cheeky grin, more to hide the depths of his need that anything else; but it summons a smile from Pitch as well.

"Oh well, since you're begging so nicely... How about I finger you? Can you come just from that, Jack?"


	16. Chapter 16

"I'm pretty sure I'm gonna come within seconds on you touching me."

Pitch's smile widens, and then he leans down to kiss Jack with such ferocity that it quite literally takes Jack's breath away. He's left lying on his back and sucking in lungfuls of air as Pitch reaches over to the nightstand to get-

To get a tube of lube out of the drawer. Oh.

Jack swallows.

Pitch eases himself off Jack to sit on the edge of the bed, looking down at him. "Undress, Jack."

That sounds like an excellent idea. Jack considers lingering, teasing, a bit of payback because god knows Pitch has been teasing him, but it's more important right now to be naked.

He wriggles out of his jeans and throws them to the side, followed quickly by the rest of his clothes. All the while Pitch watches Jack, every ounce of attention on him. When Jack is naked he falls back onto the bed, watching Pitch watch him. His breathing is shallow, heart racing. No one has ever looked at him like this, and it's not just the heat in his eyes but the - the _focus_. Like there is nothing else Pitch is thinking about. Like no-one else even _exists_ for Pitch right now. And Jack - Jack could get used to this. To being the centre of someone's universe, even if it is only for an hour or so.

And then Pitch flips open the lube and Jack's train of thought derails and bursts into flames.

"How long has it been, Jack?"

"Um - the last guy was a couple of months ago."

Pitch nods thoughtfully. "Do you like to finger yourself - or perhaps you have toys you like to use?"

"No. The angle- It's too awkward." He licks his lips. Pitch is far too find of talking when there's more interesting things to do. "And toys - no. I - don't have any."

"Perhaps I should get you a gift, then."

A gift. Of buttplugs or dildos or whatever Pitch is talking about. Could there be anything more romantic?

"I always like gifts," he says, and then points at the lube. "Weren't you about to do something?"

"Ah yes." Pitch drips some onto his fingers until they are slick and shiny. With he other hand he pushes Jack's legs wide, scratching his nails down Jack's inner thigh. "Now. Give me a colour, Jack."

"Green, already, get on with it," Jack says, breath hitching.

Pitch smirks. "Then put your hands behind your head."

Once Jack has done as directed – and only then – Pitch lowers his hand until his cool, lube-slick finger is pressed against Jack's hole. He glances up at Jack, who nods frantically, before pushing in.

Jack yelps. It doesn't hurt. He's so turned on that the finger slides in easily, but still, the _feel_ of it, knowing that this is Pitch, that this is finally happening after being forced to wait-

His hands curl in his own hair and he bites down on his lip, hard, in an attempt to control himself.

_Don't come yet. Don't come yet,_ he tells himself, but Pitch's finger is moving inside of him, and he's already so hard, and Pitch's cock felt so good in his mouth. Jack's at the end of his tether, he can't take much more of this, he _can't._

Another finger against his hole, a pause, and Jack nods eagerly, desperately. It slides in, a little pressure this time and Jack whines, bucking his hips up, he needs more, he needs more-

And then Pitch - still smirking, still smirking - curls his fingers inside Jack and the world explodes. Distantly he hears himself scream but mostly his attention is on the pleasure that's smashing into him, so much, too much.

It feels like he's drowning, or floating, or both, and he's on the verge of panicking when he feels the warmth and weight of arms around his waist, a body next to his.

"It's alright, Jack," Pitch whispers to him. "It's alright," over and over like a mantra until the panic slips away, until all Jack's left with is the toe-curling bliss of coming so very hard. Toe-curling, he thinks, and does just that, curls all of his toes, and giggles. Pitch pulls back to look at him and Jack just smiles up.

"It's alright, Pitch," Jack echoes, and after a moment Pitch smiles, moving back down to cuddle him.

"Yes. Yes it is."


	17. Chapter 17

When Jack's phone rings he scrabbles to answer it, searching through the hills and valleys of his bedsheets, and the small library of kinky books on his bed. He finds it under __The Story of O __and frowns.

It's Tooth. Pitch is with his daughter; Jack should've known it wouldn't be him. Another second, a sigh, and then,

"Hi, Tooth."

"Jack! It's so good to hear you."

"Uh-huh. How's sunny old England?"

"Raining," she says with a laugh. There's an awkward pause. "How are you doing, Jack?"

"Things are okay." He wonders what she wants. Tooth works so much that she rarely has time for something as simple as a chat. "I have a new boyfriend."

"Oh?" A note of surprise in her voice.

"He's - a bit older. I met him through Ben. At Dad's last fundraiser."

"That's great, Jack. Maybe I can meet him next time I'm home. Got to make sure he's good enough for my little brother." Her voice is soft, teasing, but Jack rolls his eyes at the idea of her vetting his boyfriend - not that he'd ever want Pitch to know he called him that. Jack sees his sister maybe once a year, and he doesn't mind that; but shared blood and one week a year doesn't give her the right to judge his life.

He tells himself that she's just looking out for him, but that doesn't shift the resentment sitting heavy in his gut.

He rolls his eyes at himself, too.

"So what's with the unexpected call?"

"I was thinking about coming home for your birthday. Getting North and Bunny to come home too. Having a bit of a family reunions. Don't you think it'll be fun?"

His birthday. The day of their mother's death. The latter has always been much more important than the former. Not that Jack minds, really – it __is __more important, of course it is. Still, he was glad when his siblings went their separate ways and he got to enjoy his birthdays with his friends instead.

He ends up agreeing because what else can he do? Tooth says it might be fun and who knows, she might even be right.

After all, Christmas __is __a time of miracles.

* * *

Jamie and Kal commiserate with him. They've been to several of Jack's family birthday gatherings. At one, everyone sat in silence. The second was much the same, only the silence was broken to suggest they go to the graveyard.

"Go out for dinner with them, and then come here," Kal suggests. They're lounging on Kal and Jamie's sofa, an empty box of doughnuts and lukewarm Big Gulps on the coffee table. The menu screen of __Pacific Rim __plays for the fiftieth time in the background. "Say we've made plans. That way you're doing the family obligation thing, but you've got a reason to book when things get too depressing."

"We have the annual Die Hard marathon after all," Jamie says with a grin. "You can't miss that."

"It's the social event of the season," Jack agrees, and sighs, feeling like a choking weight has been lifted off his shoulders. With an epic sigh of relief, he slouches back onto the sofa, and only then realises that he's been sat rigid as a fence post. But then, his family has always had that effect on him; Jamie and Kal have always been able to counter it.

"And what about his royal highness Pitch?" Kal asks with a raised eyebrow. He reaches for his Big Gulp and then winces at the taste of watered-down, room-temperature Coke. "What are his plans got your birthday?"

Jack feels his cheeks heat and wills the blush away. There are a lot of things Jack hasn't shared with his friends about his relationship with Pitch. Mostly because he doesn't know how to; they've only just started exploring this and he'd like to be surer of his footing before he starts putting it into words. As for his birthday, so far the only thing that Pitch said about it was that he will be getting Jack a _very_ special present. He said it in the deep, smooth voice that makes Jack's knees weak and his heart race and his cock hard. Whatever Pitch is planning, it's going to be his own very special brand of fun.

"I don't know yet," he says, truthfully. "It's a month away, and we've not been dating that long. It's not like we're serious."

"Uh-huh." Kal knows - Jamie too - that Jack's bluffing. They _haven't_ been dating that long, but it's not like any other relationship Jack's ever had. As far as Kal and Jamie are concerned, the jury's still out on whether he's head-over-heels or just in over his head.

Jack wonders sometimes too.

"We're probably just going to have a meal," Jack says, and then sits forward to lean against Kal and wink at him. "And then have sex. Mind-blowingly amazing sex. Like-"

"So you've told us, repeatedly," Kal says, turning on the Wii and throwing a controller at Jack. "It's not cool to brag when you're the only one getting any."

"Jealous?"

"Yes," Kal says and grins at him. "But you should see the girl I have a date with next Friday. She's an A student with the sweetest smile-"

"You're as bad as each other," Jamie groans and snatches up a third controller. "Let's concentrate on the important things, okay? Like how much you both suck at Mario Kart."

"Oh it is __on__," Jack says, and sets about defending his title of all-time Mario Kart champion of the apartment.

Things might always be awkward and painful with his family, he might still be settling into his relationship with Pitch, but his friendships with Kal and Jamie are his bedrock.

That doesn't mean he'll give them any quarter when it comes to kicking their asses.


	18. Chapter 18

They go to the American Museum of Natural History. Jack's always liked dinosaurs but he likes the museum's proximity to the Dakota even better.

"I take my daughter here sometimes," Pitch says as they wall through the Hall of Gems, where a hundred sparkling crystals wink under bright lights like multicoloured stars. "She loves it. Knows more about history than I do."

"I used to come here pretty much every weekend. Sometimes after school, too."

Pitch raises an eyebrow at him. "You don't strike me as a bookworm."

"I dunno, I've been studying those books you gave me pretty hard," Jack says, and his sidelong glance at Pitch meets a very hungry smile.

"Good. There'll be a test later."

"Multiple choice?"

"Hmm. Yes," Pitch says and leans in close so that only Jack can hear him. "Your choices are, a) being tied up, b) spanking, c) ball gags."

"How about, d) all of the above," Jack whispers, and Pitch's velvet laugh caresses Jack's ear.

"Congratulations, that's the correct answer." He straightens up and does an excellent job of looking nonchalant. "So why was it that you came here so often?"

"Why not?" Jack says, his head still full of naughty thoughts, and puts his hands in his hoodie pocket before he reaches over to grope Pitch's rather fine ass. "There's lots of cool stuff to see and no-one ever bothers you. And it meant I didn't have to go home. Wandering around here unnoticed is one thing. Sitting at home with my dad's special brand of Ignoring is a different matter."

"You don't get on with your father?"

Jack laughs without a single trace of humour. Why did he say that? What could have possibly possessed him to say that to Pitch? He stops in front of the star sapphires, gazing down at the imprisoned asterisms. "You could say that."

What else can he say about his father? _He ignores me._ Not exactly something to call Child Protection over. He had a roof over his head, got fed. So what if Jack had a better relationship with the doorman than with his father? No-one ever hit him, or starved him or any of the stuff he sees on the news. He lives in a ten million dollar apartment for god's sake. His dad either ignores him or says shitty things about him. Big deal.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Pitch asks, and Jack doesn't look up at him. He's had more than enough people look at him with that concern – or worse yet pity – in their eyes, he doesn't need to see it on the face of the person he's trying to sleep with.

"No. Come on. I want to see the dinosaurs. Which one's your daughter's favourite?"

Pitch's long legs make easy work of matching Jack's sudden spurt of speed.

"It sounds like you should talk about it."

"Yeah, my therapist says the same thing. Seriously, which is your kid's favourite? I always liked triceratops."

Pitch sighs, and Jack's head spins with relief when he lets him change the subject. "She likes triceratops too. She has a toy that I bought her for her birthday. It likes to attack Equestria. From what I can tell it's usually a misunderstanding and he ends up making friends with Twilight Sparkle."

"To my eternal shame, I actually know what you're talking about," Jack chuckles and grins up at Pitch, his tension ebbing away. "And your daughter sounds like she has some awesome toys."

"You should see her mother's place. We try not to spoil her; we don't need to. If we say she can't have the latest toy, she builds it out of Lego instead." He smiles proudly and Jack has to look away.

It's still raining when they're ready to leave, freezing sheets of rain that'll make the sidewalks slick tonight.

"Do you want to get a taxi?" Pitch asks, peering out at the rain.

"It's like four blocks. Besides, if we get soaked that's an excuse to get out of our wet clothes."

Pitch gives him an approving grin and then takes his hand.

"Then let's run."

It's cold, it's wet, but Jack's laughing as they sprint hand-in-hand down Central Park West and his heart is singing. He's still laughing and breathless when they step into Pitch's apartment, dripping on the hardwood floors. Pitch grabs a towel from the bathroom and dries Jack's hair, eliciting a new set of giggles before Pitch lowers the towel to Jack's shoulders and stops, looking down at him.

"What?" Jack asks. The way that Pitch is looking at him is making him feel self-conscious.

"You're beautiful," Pitch murmurs and kisses him, slick and warm and sweet, but it breaks off when Jack starts shivering.

"S-sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about."

Jack is given too-long sweats and a Yankees hoodie, and his own clothes are hung up to dry.

"Hey, I thought the whole idea was that we were going to get out of those wet clothes."

"We __are __out of those wet clothes."

"Get naked, I mean. Naked and - you know. Sex."

"Your powers of description astound me, Jack," Pitch says dryly and pulls on a t-shirt - black, of course. His still-damp hair hangs over his forehead, curling slightly. It's a good look for him.

Jack goes over and stands close, close enough that he can feel Pitch's body heat. He stops, not quite touching, and Pitch stands still, waiting. Taking Pitch's stillness as permission, Jack explores. Starting with his hands on Pitch's chest, he moves down over his abdomen, feeling the lean, hard muscles there. His hands rest on Pitch's hips and he looks up at him.

"I really like you," he says, cheeks burning and feeling stupid and childish, but it suddenly seems important to say it.

"I really like you too," Pitch says, and kisses Jack's forehead, pulling him close. His t-shirt must be just out of the wash; it smells good, and Pitch is warm, and Jack is happy. A simple happiness with complicated feelings behind it, but Jack's life is always complicated in one way or another. "Come on, Jack. Hot chocolate and a movie. Your choice."

"The Road Warrior. Whilst cuddling. Followed by making out on the sofa. And then - well. Something fun."

"Something fun," Pitch promises with a grin, and leads Jack into the living room.

* * *

A/N: Hope everyone had a great time over the holidays, and I hope 2015 is the best year ever! Since I missed a chapter last week because of the holidays, there are two tonight. Thank you so much for all your incredible support, you're awesome.


	19. Chapter 19

Jack falls asleep ten minutes into the movie and wakes up as the credits are rolling. His head is in Pitch's lap and Pitch's fingers are in his hair, playing with it. Sleepy and satisfied, Jack stays still, enjoying the attention.

"I know you're awake," Pitch says, and with a grin Jack rolls onto his back to look up at him.

"So do you have plans for me, now that I'm awake?"

"Only to ask you what you want, and hopefully give it to you." Pitch strokes a finger over Jack's lips, and Jack's tongue darts out to lick at it. Grabbing Pitch's wrist he holds his hand still so that he can lick some more, suck on his fingers, all the while staring up at Pitch.

It doesn't take long for Jack to tire of that and want the real thing. Twisting so that he's on his front he smirks at the tent in Pitch's sweatpants and reaches inside, shivering when his fingers touch the hot hardness of Pitch's cock. He's not even wearing underwear but then neither is Jack. Tugging Pitch's pants down just enough to free his cock, Jack doesn't bother with teasing or dragging things out. He just gets on with it, licking Pitch hungrily and then sucking him. A litany of whispered curses escape Pitch's lips, and his hand stays in Jack's hair, tugging slightly, the whisper of pain making Jack's cock throb inside his borrowed pants

"You're so good, Jack," Pitch murmurs. "Always so good."

"I don't know about that," Jack says, "But I _do _give pretty good blow jobs."

He goes back to it, taking his time. Noting the way that Pitch gets louder the closer he gets to coming; the way that his hand tightens in Jack's hair.

And then Pitch is coming with a groan, or maybe a growl, something guttural deep in his throat. Whichever it is, Jack's cock responds but he keeps concentrating on his task, sucking Pitch through his climax, grinding his own hips against the sofa and moaning around the cock in his mouth.

As Pitch gasps, chasing his breath, Jack crawls into his lap to straddle him. Pitch opens one eye, raises a brow, and Jack grins, pulling his own cock from his sweats. It's hot and heavy in his hand, and for all that he was able to ignore his own needs while he was concentrating on Pitch, now he suddenly, desperately needs to come. It's a struggle not to start stroking himself straight away. Instead he bites his lip and looks at Pitch.

"Can I? Please?" The words come naturally, driven by a need for permission that Jack doesn't really understand but is unable to resist.

Pitch opens both eyes now, sits a little straighter. "Can you what, Jack?"

He knows what Jack means, he _knows_, but this is part of the game too, and Jack licks his lips. "Make myself come. Please? I've been a good boy, right?"

Jack sees Pitch's adam's apple bob as he swallows, sees the intensity in his eyes despite the nonchalance he tries to affect. "Yes. You have." Lifting a hand, he strokes his cheek. "You've been a very good boy. Alright. Bring yourself off. Let me see you."

It takes all of three strokes and then Jack is coming, a strangled noise only half-escaping his throat. Pitch arms are around him, warm and close, and as Jack collapses against his chest. He listens to Pitch's heartbeat and feels himself relax, each knot of tension in him unwinding until he feels boneless and content as a cat in a patch of sunlight.

"Was that okay?" He asks, lifting his head. "I mean, I know you like kinky stuff."

"I do. But it doesn't always have to be kinky. Spontaneity can be a good thing. And honestly Jack, that bit at the end, where you asked me if you could come? That was perfect. That's the exact kind of thing that I like."

"Me too," Jack says quietly. He hadn't realised quite how much. With another smile, Jack settles back down. "Maybe we can do some more of the kinky stuff tomorrow. I'd be up for a bit of exploration. I'd like to try some of the stuff I've been reading about. And try some of the stuff I've done before but – well, I think it'll be better with you."

Pitch gives a velvet chuckle. "Oh, you do like stroking my ego, Jack."

"Evidently. Let's talk about it tomorrow. For now, Thunderdome, yeah?"


	20. Chapter 20

The next day Jack stays at Pitch's place while he goes do something involving taxes and accountants. It sounds terribly dull. So Jack's lying on Pitch's sofa messing about on his iPad and waiting for Pitch to get home. He's looking forward to it, especially since Pitch said he'd bring Jack a present. He said it with this –__look__– in his eyes that suggested that this is going to be a very interesting present, and that it's going to be a very interesting day.

He thinks about the night before, about how easy, how naturally he slipped into being so – submissive. He shivers. Because the other end of that equation is Pitch, dominant. Dominating him.

"Fuck," Jack whispers, closing his eyes against the sudden surge of desire that pulls him under with tidal forces. Not for the first time today, Jack fervently wishes that Pitch hadn't had to leave the apartment. Just think of how much fun they could've had if he'd stayed.

Still, though. He'll be back soon.

Jack opens the tumblr app and loses himself in his dash for a few hours, until he hears the key in the door. He's only a little embarrassed as to how quickly he sits up, quickly tugging down his t-shirt and straightening his hair, and then realising that a stripe of visible belly and bedhead might have been the way to go. There's not much time to regret it, though, for Pitch comes striding into the living room.

Head to foot in black as usual, there's still a few flakes of unmelted snow on his scarf. He stops, looks down at Jack with an almost haughty look that summons Jack's brattiness.

"You left me alone for way too long, " Jack says, standing up and putting his hands on his hips, cocking his head. "I could've skipped out, found something fun to do."

"I'm sure you could," Pitch says. "But you waited. Perhaps I should reward your patience."

"You totally should."

Pitch smirks and tosses a black plastic bag on the coffee table before slowly - too damn slowly - stripping off his outer layers. Scarf, coat, gloves; he kicks off his creepers and then turns to Jack again, folding his arms.

"Now, then. How to reward you."

"I'm sure you can think of something," Jack says, and goes up to Pitch, putting his hands on his hips and pulling him close before he can pull away or god forbid, start teasing. "You seem like the kind of guy that's always got a plan."

"I do, but they're not always good ones."

Pitch leans down to kiss him, hand going to the back of Jack's head and pulling at his hair to position him exactly where he wants him. Jack opens his mouth to him, and when Pitch responds immediately by sliding his tongue against Jack's, it makes his legs feel a little weak. More than a little - he feels like his knees might give way. Or maybe it's that he wants to get on his knees. The thoughts careen around his brain, bouncing off the inside of his skull, and he pulls back, licking at his lips and feeling jittery.

Pitch watches him for a moment, and the hand tugging on his hair softens to stroke, instead. "Are you alright?"

"I'm - yeah. I just. It's the way I react to you, y' know? I don't even know what I want."

"Tell me. What are you feeling?"

Jack shrugs. His instant reaction is to slam up walls, to make a joke of it. Instead, he summons a little courage and forces himself to speak. "I feel like - I want to get on my knees. Not to suck you off - well, maybe. But - because I just. I just __want __to. And I don't know why."

Pitch continues to stroke his hair. "I think you do, Jack. You've been reading, haven't you?"

"I have. But - it's one thing to read something and another to want to spontaneously get on your knees in front of someone. In front of your - dom, or whatever."

Pitch tries very hard to control his expression then, Jack can tell. He doesn't do a very good job of it. He looks like a starving man who's just been handed a glass of water. "Your dom," he says softly, his voice diving deep and velvet, chasing another shiver down Jack's spine. "Is that what you want, Jack?"

"I don't know," Jack says, and gives a broken little laugh. "But - I think so. I mean. Yeah. I think so."

After a moment's thought, Pitch nods. "We'll go slowly until you're ready," he says. "I trust you to tell me if you want to stop."

"If I want to stop what?"

"Well, that's up to you. But I __did __say I was going to get you a present." He gestures at the glossy black bag on the coffee table. Jack glances down at it. No label, no logo.

"It's for me?"

"It is. Take a look."

Picking up the bag, Jack sits down with it. Pitch sits next to him, close enough that their knees touch, and the contact sends sparks dancing through Jack. He opens the bag and reaches in cautiously. His fingers brush against - something. Long and coiled. Soft but with some friction. He knows what it is before he pulls it out, and his breathing is shallow before he even sees it. Rope. A rich dark blue. He puts it against his skin to see how it looks, and Pitch makes a low, guttural noise. When Jack looks up at him, his eyes are bright, like molten gold, and his lips are parted slightly. He looks like Jack feels.

"Now, this doesn't have to be for right now. But I know you said that you liked being tied up, and I thought that if you wanted to, some time-"

"I want to. Now." There's no hesitancy in Jack's voice, and there's no hesitancy in his heart. The other times he's been tied up it felt good. For a few reasons, but partly because it felt like the rope was pulling together all the thoughts that always go whizzing off in every direction. It held him together so that he didn't have to try. He just needed to __be __and everything would settle. And that was just with people who didn't really mean much to him. With Pitch, he's sure the effect will be stronger, just like everything else is.

"Alright, Jack," Pitch says, taking Jack's hand and leading him into the bedroom.


	21. Chapter 21

"So," Pitch says, cocking his head as he regards Jack. "Do you want to stay clothed or get naked?"

Jack blinks at him. "Is that a joke?"

"Not at all. This doesn't have to be sexual."

"I'm pretty sure it does," Jack says, and is rewarded with a smirk. There's no way that he's letting Pitch back out of this. Last night was good, sure, but nowhere near enough. "Maybe some other time we can just do the rope thing for its own sake. But right now I want - more." He moves to pull off his shirt but Pitch touches his arm, staying him. Jack feels something very like a static shock where Pitch touches him and sucks in a breath.

"What do you want, exactly?"

Jack frowns at him. Why does Pitch always insist on asking these kinds of questions? Either he's just being a jerk by forcing Jack to say this stuff, or he wants to be sure of what Jack wants. While Jack's not sure he'll ever know for sure how Pitch's mind works, it's probably a safe bet to say that it's probably both.

"I want - a blow job."

"You want me to give you a blow job?" Pitch says it seriously, like there's any possibility Jack __wouldn't __want that-

Oh.

Pitch is thinking about that first time, when Jack freaked out. Like maybe it was something to do with the blow job rather than everything to do with Jack being messed up.

"Yeah. I want it."

"While you're tied up? Or do you want me to untie you?"

More questions. Biting down on an impatient response, Jack reminds himself that Pitch is being considerate, probably, and considers it. "While I'm tied up. If I change my mind I'll let you know."

"Alright." Pitch nods and points at the rope, reaching out a hand. "May I?"

Without hesitation Jack hands it over, his breath hitching as he does and his heart starting to race.

"So. Safe words, Jack," Pitch says, tearing off the cardboard wrapper and tossing it onto the bedside table. He uncoils the rope, letting the ends drop to the floor. Jack stares at it- he can't look away. "Do you want to use the colours again?"

"Yes. And right now it's absolutely green," Jack says, too quickly. "So - naked?"

"Naked," Pitch agrees. "But let me."

Laying the rope on the bed, Pitch turns his attention to Jack, gazing at him for a long hungry moment before putting his hands to Jack's hips. His thumbs duck beneath the hem of Jack's t-shirt, gently stroking his skin. Teasing. Just before Jack reaches the ends of his admittedly limited patience, Pitch pulls the t-shirt up and off, dropping it to the floor. He spends a moment roving Jack's body hungrily with his eyes before leaning in and kissing Jack's collarbone, left to right, pausing at his neck to bite, very gently, grazing the skin with his teeth. Then he moves lower, licking at Jack's nipples, and Jack moans, hands moving to grab Pitch's shoulders.

"Don't stop! Green, green," Jack says when Pitch starts to move away, holding tighter to his shoulders and holding him in place. Pitch glances up and when he sees Jack's open-mouthed desperation he returns to his task, continuing to kiss and bite as he unbuttons Jack's jeans, unzips, starts to tug them down over his hips.

He pulls back, looking down at where his hands rest on Jack's fly, and then up to meet his eyes with a smirk and a quirked eyebrow.

"Don't look at me like that," Jack says, responding with a raised eyebrow of his own. "I don't carry clean underwear around with me and it would be weird to borrow some of yours. So I figured I'd go commando for a day. Makes for easy access if nothing else, right?"

With a velvet chuckle Pitch nods. "You have the most wonderful thoughts, Jack," he says, and he kisses Jack before sliding the jeans all the way down. He kneels to do it and while he's down there, he strokes Jack's cock a few times, kisses the tip of it, a promise of things to come that fires a shock of pleasure though Jack.

"Tease," Jack mutters under his breath.

"Now, Jack, you said you wanted me to blow you while you were tied up. You'll have to be patient. Can you do that, Jack? Be patient?"

"Sure. So you're going to tie me up now?"

"So much for being patient," Pitch says, but picks up the rope. He gazes at Jack for a long moment, thoughtful, and then says, "Hands behind your back. "

When Jack does as he's told, Pitch moves behind him and pulls his wrists together. The first touch of the rope to his wrists makes Jack bite his lip, part anticipation and part excitement dancing through him.

Finally. This is really happening. As Pitch works it quickly becomes apparent that he's way better at this than anything in Jack's experience. He works with ease, getting each knot right the first time, moving in a planned way, cool and collected and utterly confident - Pitch in a nutshell, really. Jack lets out a long, slow breath that shakes on the way out. He feels the tension in his shoulders and back melt away and he hums as Pitch works.

Even without looking over his shoulder, Jack knows he has Pitch's full attention. He can __feel __it, almost like heat in his spine. Pitch's focus is on him and him alone. Like he __matters__. Like he's __important__.

Jack's whirring thoughts slow and then quiet as Pitch works, dissolving in the well of stillness that burbles up as Pitch ties the knots. His breathing slows and by the time Pitch moves around to face Jack, Jack can feel a small smile curving his lips.

"Everything alright?" Pitch asks softly.

"Great."

Another pause and Pitch grabs the end of the rope, tying it around his chest twice before securing it.

"There. How does that feel?"

Secure. Safe. Wanted. Lots of things, all of them good.

"Great. Green," Jack adds again before Pitch can ask. "Really, really green."

"Excellent," Pitch says, and drops onto his knees.


	22. Chapter 22

Pitch is good.

But then Jack already knew that. It's different this time, though. Pitch's mouth is warm, his hand firm around the base of Jack's cock - that's the same. But the ropes hold him in, ground him. They make him feel safe. Like it's okay to enjoy this, to give himself up to the feeling. Like he can trust Pitch.

And he __can __trust Pitch, right?

Jack's eyes flutter open. It takes an effort because his eyelids are so _heavy_. He looks down at Pitch, on his knees, putting all of his effort into making Jack feel good, focusing completely on him, his eyes darting up occasionally to make sure that Jack is alright.

With a steel certainty, Jack is sure he can trust him. He __does __trust him.

So he lets himself go.

Shutting his eyes again he tips his head back and opens himself to all of the sensations that Pitch is invoking in him. The heat of his mouth, of the hand splayed on Jack's hip. The wet, indecent noises of his tongue and lips on Jack's cock. The whimper that Jack lets slip from his lips. Pulling on the ropes, feeling them holding him. He sinks deeper into himself, into the pool of stillness inside him, a place where all of his worries and fears are banished, where he can just __feel___.._.

He feels a smile curve his lips, feels joy grow in him like one of those sped-up videos of a plant blooming. It's not because Pitch is giving him a fucking awesome blow job. It's more than that. Pitch is giving him form and shape, and what does that even __mean___?_

It's nonsense, but it doesn't matter, because Pitch is here to look after Jack, dumb thoughts and all-

And then even those dumb thoughts are fracturing, blowing away like fall leaves in a gust of wind.

There's just the pleasure: intense, hot, building until Jack feels like he's going to burst. His whole body is shaking, fine little tremors accompanied by quick, gasping breaths.

Pitch is deep-throating him and it's-

It's perfect.

Jack's hands clench and unclench where they're bound against his shoulders, wanting to grasp Pitch's hair.

But he can't and that's okay. His stomach muscles tense, and he knows it's not going to be long until he comes. A tumbleweed thought bounces through his mind - so soon? Or is it not soon? How long has it been? It doesn't matter. Pitch wants him to come, and his mouth is so hot, and he's so good at this, it can't be long now, and _Pitch wants him to come-_

And he does.

With one long, loud cry he comes in Pitch's mouth, eyes closed, his whole body tensing through the climax - and then __relaxes,__all the tension of the day, of the month, of his life dropping away with one single breath.

He feels drunk, and is barely aware of Pitch leading him to the bed, lying him down. Of Pitch lying by his side, stroking his hair, carefully undoing the ropes. And then Jack is grabbing Pitch around the waist like a limpet until the world comes back into focus, until the muted, mellow colours become brighter and realer.

"How are you feeling?" Pitch asks, and Jack makes a vaguely positive noise in answer. "Use your words, Jack. Was that good?"

"It was good."

Pitch laughs, just a little, fond and soft. "When I said words, I didn't mean repeat mine. Tell me how it was. Tell me how you're feeling now."

"It was really good. It was-" Jack pauses, licking his lips and fishing for words in his pleasantly soupy brain. "I trust you. I felt looked after. Safe. And that… That made me just relax and…" He waves a hand vaguely. "It was the most awesome, most chilled out orgasm I've ever had."

"Excellent," Pitch says, lifting Jack's wrist and kissing the inside of it. His thumb traces the beginnings of Jack's tattoo. "That was my intention."

Jack hums and then snuggles a little closer to Pitch. Which is when he realises Pitch is still hard, and that he should really do something about it. Feeling languid and lazy, he shuffles up the bed until he's in a better position, propped up on the nest of pillows and leaning on his side. With a concerted effort he undoes Pitch's fly. Pulling out his cock, he hums in satisfaction at the heat and hardness of it under his fingers.

"You don't have to," Pitch says.

"I know," Jack says, and starts to move his hand. He watches Pitch's face as he jerks him off, watches as his cheeks grow pink, as his mouth drops open, as his eyes close. Jack's arm starts to ache but he keeps going, and he's rewarded in a matter of minutes as Pitch comes for him, come arcing onto his belly, so hot against his skin. Pitch's mouth is still open, his breathing ragged, and Jack pulls him down to the bed by his side.

"Fuck," Pitch says, voice hoarse.

"I know," Jack agrees, and pulls Pitch's sweater off, throwing it carelessly to the side. He strips off the t-shirt beneath, uses it to clean both of them up, and then it joins the sweater. Jeans and briefs are discarded last of all, with grumbling assistance from Pitch, and then Jack cuddles up to him, resting his hand on his chest and watching it as it rises and falls with his breath.

They lie there together, not sleeping, not speaking, just enjoying each other's company. It's a novel experience for Jack, and one he could get used to. He's sure Pitch is going to want to talk about it soon: did Jack like the rope – hell yes – did he like the blow job – __fuck __yes. But for now this comfortable silence is all he needs.


	23. Chapter 23

When Jack stirs, Pitch is curled around him, pressed against his back. Already awake, his fingers are in Jack's hair, stroking gently, as though he doesn't want to wake Jack but can't help himself. It feels nice, as does the half-hard cock pressed against his ass. Jack lies there, eyes closed, and enjoys the intimacy of the moment. Pitch with all his barriers down - and Jack, too, for that matter. No sarcasm or banter or deflection. Just this. Just them.

Jack lies still for a moment longer, part of him afraid that if he moves and lets Pitch knows that he's awake it will shift things, create a distance between them. But the very intimacy of the moment makes this small dishonesty seem larger, and Jack forces himself to move, glancing over his shoulder with half-lidded eyes.

"Good morning," he murmurs, his voice rusty with sleep.

"Good morning." Pitch kisses his temple. "How are you feeling?"

"Good. Excellent." Pitch's fingers are still in his hair, and Jack sighs, almost a purr. The feel of Pitch's cock against his ass stirs his own desire, and he presses back against it, smiling at Pitch's intake of breath. "You?"

"Very good indeed. Having you in my bed is the best start to the day." He drops a kiss to Jack's shoulder and his breath hitches when Jack rubs against him again. "You know, it's almost like you want something."

"I do."

"And what is it that you want?"

"Mmm. All kinds of things. Mostly involving you, me and orgasms."

Pitch chuckles and Jack can feel the movement against his back. "Anything specific?"

A hundred scenarios leap to the front of Jack's mind, squabbling for his attention. "You could fuck me," Jack suggests, and he licks his lips. "We've not done that yet."

"I want to wait until your birthday, Jack." Pitch slides his hand over Jack's waist and down to his cock.

"But-" Jack's eyes flutter shut as Pitch starts to stroke him gently. "I-I'm already eighteen."

Another velvet chuckle. "I know. I wouldn't be doing this if you weren't-"

"Yeah right."

"-but I have _plans_ for your birthday."

"Plans that include fucking me?"

"Perhaps. We'll see how we feel on the day. But your present - well, let's just say your present is related to my fucking you."

Jack makes a high-pitched little noise as Pitch's hand tightens around him, just a little; a creeping, teasing increment because despite everything else Pitch has to be a giant jerk as well. "This whole being mysterious thing is very annoying."

"And you're being naughty. Your present is a secret. Stop trying to guess. You'll find out soon enough."

"But-" He gasps as Pitch bites at his neck, not entirely gently, and an idea sidles into Jack's mind and takes root. "Will- will you-"

"Will I…?"

Jack knows what he wants. But saying it - oh god, it sounds so _stupid_.

"Will I what, Jack?"

"I want- You to-" Pitch's hand stills on his cock, though he doesn't pull away. Jack reaches down to try to get him to move again, but Pitch is both adamant and apparently insistent on being a pricktease. "Oh come on."

"You want me to do something. Tell me what it is."

"I want you to – to mark me, okay?" Jack snaps, his cheeks burning. "A hickey. Just so - I can look in the mirror over the weekend and see it, and know you did it and-"

But Pitch is already at work, sucking a bruise into Jack's skin at the juncture of neck and shoulder, just above the upper edge of his tattoo. The hand on Jack's cock is moving again too and Jack shivers, already ridiculously close to coming.

"But you know," Pitch says, pulling back so that he can look at whatever mark he's just made, "It's not that I don't want to fuck you. Because I really, really do."

"Fuck," Jack whimpers, trying to hold his climax back but his control is spiralling away from him.

"Yes," Pitch agrees. "We're going to have a marvellous time on your birthday. But what about now, hmm?"

"Wha?" Jack's brain isn't quite in gear anymore, all of his concentration bent on trying not to come because damn it all, a sixty-second handjob is apparently enough to get him off now.

"I'm not going to fuck you, but there are other options. Like intercrural sex."

"Wha?" Jack asks again. The science-y sounding word is unfamiliar, but then again words like __options__ are kind of tricky to understand right now, though he understands __sex __just fine.

"Between your thighs - shall I show you?"

"Uh – yeah. Yeah, that would be good."

"Excellent," Pitch purrs in his ear, then bites his earlobe, making Jack yelp. "Now, I've noticed that you seem to like getting my permission before you come-" __Fuck yes.___ "__-_so how about we do that? Can you wait, Jack?"

"I - I can try," he says, forcing his eyes open to glance back at Pitch and then whimpering at the slightly predatory smile he sees there. "Yes," he whispers, and the smile widens.

"Excellent." Pitch reaches over Jack's body to the nightstand, and tugs open the drawer. It means that his hand leaves Jack's cock, but he doesn't entirely mind. It gives him a moment to try and calm himself. Not that it helps a whole lot when Pitch pulls out a bottle of lube from the drawer.

"But - you said you weren't going to fuck me."

"I'm not. But lube often helps. Do you use hand lotion or something similar when you're jerking yourself off?"

"Y-yeah."

Pitch smirks. "Now __there's __something I'd like to see. Perhaps you could make a video for me, hmm? Or I could film you."

"Oh my god."

"I could film you, and then we could watch it together," Pitch says, conversational, and the slick sounds of lube draw another whimper from Jack.

Is this going to be weird? Is it going to feel good for him, or is it more for Pitch, or- Not that he minds if this is mostly for Pitch, he is more than happy to do things for Pitch's benefit, like if Pitch just wants to use his body then oh _fuck_, is he ever okay with that. Like, blindfolded and tied up and having no idea what Pitch is going to do to him, and-

"Oh fuck," Jack says again as his thoughts run away from him.

"Language," Pitch says fondly, and when he reaches to stroke Jack's cock one, two times, the noise Jack makes is completely embarrassing.

"Take over," Pitch commands, taking Jack's hand and putting it on his cock so that he can touch himself. Jack is happy to comply, and he starts with gentle strokes so that he can concentrate on what is happening. For everything else, he gives himself completely over to Pitch, letting him move and adjust him however he wishes. It's freeing, giving up control like that and he sighs, feeling the tension melt away from his shoulders.

Pitch starts by lifting Jack's thigh, just a little, and then shifting closer. First, Jack's aware of the heat of Pitch's body all along his back; then he feels the hot hardness of Pitch's cock between his legs. Pushing Jack's thighs back together, Pitch's breath catches. "There we go."

Jack blinks. It's - interesting. Pitch's hand goes to his hip to steady him as he starts to thrust-

And then it's suddenly a hell of a lot more than just __interesting___._

The tip of Pitch's cock whispers against Jack's balls and - yeah. That's good. And the friction against his upper thighs and his perineum, __damn__. He squeezes his eyes shut and sees starbursts. Why exactly hasn't he done this before? It feels __awesome__, especially since he's stroking himself, and Pitch's breathless gasps in his ear are just the icing on the goddamn cake.

"Bloody hell, Jack," Pitch whispers. "This - if just this is so good - and it is, fuck-"

"It is," Jack says in breathless agreement.

"Then what's it going to be like inside you? Fuck." He draws out the last word, his fingers tightening on Jack's hip enough to hurt but that feels good too, oh god. The new and fantastic sensations between his thighs, his hand on his cock, Pitch whispering all the things he wants to do to him, it's like a hundred switches being thrown at once, overloading his circuits. How much longer is he expected to hold on? It's not humanly impossible to last much longer, he can't-

"I wanna come," he gasps.

"Hold on, Jack. Hold on for me."

Jack bites his lip, hard enough that he tastes copper, and tries not to cry out as the head of Pitch's cock rubs against his balls again, again, oh god, it feels so good, too _good_-

"Just a little longer. For me, Jack. Just hold on for me."

And he's trying, he's trying so hard but god-

He has to stop touching himself and both hands grab fistfuls of bedsheet but it doesn't do much to help. He feels like he's already freewheeling, caught up in the inevitable gravity of his orgasm.

Fuck_, fuck_, and Pitch's words have dissolved into grunts as he thrusts again and again.

"Please," Jack whispers. "Please, please-"

And finally Pitch says __yes__-

And Jack comes, not even needing to be touched. He cries out, Pitch's own cry mingling with his as they come together, swept away on the same wave.

They come down together too, their breaths evening out, relaxing against each other. Jack twists to kiss Pitch, lazy and wet and slick, and he's slick between his thighs too, a mix of lube and Pitch's come, and the thought makes him shiver and whimper.

"That was awesome," Jack says, and Pitch bites his bottom lip.

"It was," he agrees, and pulls Jack into a tight hug. Twisted around like a pretzel, it's not exactly comfortable but Jack's not about to complain. Kissing and cuddling after mind-blowing sex? It's the perfect end to a perfect morning.


	24. Chapter 24

After a rest and a much needed shower (shared, to save water of course, nothing to do with the slick, steamy make out session), they go to the coffee shop.

Jack's not sure how he feels about it. On the one hand, it's neutral territory, and he appreciates that Pitch is giving him this space, but the thing is, he also doesn't feel like he __needs __the neutrality. He is comfortable with Pitch, and almost as comfortable in Pitch's apartment as he is in his own. More so, really. If Jack's dad's at home then Jack's pretty much trapped in his room until he can't take it any more and bails.

As they sit down, Jack tries not to sigh. That's something they can talk about, he supposes, though he'd really rather not do this Serious Talk thing at all, and definitely not about _feelings_. Pitch seems insistent though, so Jack steels himself against it.

Pitch buys both of them coffee and cake, a layered chocolate thing that is very square and very serious; no sprinkles or garish chocolate curls here. Despite its appearance, it's the best thing Jack's tasted in his life. At the first mouthful he gives a muffled moan that makes Pitch smirk at him.

"I don't know if I should be upset that you seem to appreciate that cake more than you do me."

"This is damn good cake, Pitch," Jack says, shovelling more into his mouth. "But you're just as good - and I hope you appreciate what a compliment that is."

"I do," Pitch says and takes a bite, making appreciative noises of his own.

They sit in silence for a moment - cake like this deserves reverence - and Jack thinks about how he felt while being tied up. The way he just __melted__, sunk deep inside himself; about the stillness he found there. It was at once the most intense and the most deeply relaxing thing he's ever felt. Is that even possible, to feel such opposites at the same time? He guesses that it matches up to some of the experiences of submissives in the books he's been reading, but he didn't know it would be like – like __that__.

"So," Pitch says softly, pushing his now-empty plate out of the way. "Let's talk."

"About the cake?"

A smile tugs at Pitch's lips. "About our previous activity. About you being tied up. Did you like it?"

"I thought that was obvious."

"Obvious or not, I want to hear you say it."

Jack taps the table and frowns. Pitch takes his hand.

"Jack, I'm not asking you this to annoy you. We need to talk about these things. I need to know, so that I know where your boundaries are - and I need to know what you'd like to explore. Perhaps even so that __you __know what you'd like to explore."

"Well, I'd definitely like to do that again," Jack says, and feels discomfort churning in his stomach. But - maybe talking about this is the way to understanding it better. For both him and Pitch.

He looks down at his wrist, where he can see the almost-faded indentation where the rope lay only a few hours before. Alright, he decides. If they're talking about it, he'll take it seriously and give a real answer. A thought-out answer.

So - did he like it? Yes.

That was easy.

__Why__did he like it? That's more complicated, and when he tries to turn his thoughts to the matter all he finds is a miasma of want and crash-bang-complicated feelings.

He sits back and sips his coffee slowly. "I loved it. It was - intense. It made everything more intense." As he speaks, the fog in his brain seems to clear a little and he can find a path through his thoughts. "As well as feeling _good_ \- it made me feel safe. The way that you were just - focused on me. Like I was worthy of your time." Pitch takes his hand, his thumb stroking across the back of it. He doesn't speak, just gives Jack time to put his words in order. No pressure; just patience. "It made me feel special. And it made me feel _good_. I think - I think I get what you meant when you said it wasn't just about the sex. It's more than that."

Pitch nods. "Sometimes it can be as simple as feeling the rope against your skin when you're doing something else - your wrists tied while you watch TV, for example. Some people like to sleep bound. If you wanted to do that I'd stay awake, to make sure that you were safe."

"I'd like that," he says quietly, liking the idea of sleeping while tied up - liking it a lot. To wake with Pitch still there by his side, watching over him makes delight course through him - delight and __belonging__. That sounds - perfect. "So. The rope thing is a definite yes."

There's a pause and Jack thinks he's given a pretty good answer, gotten a good insight into why he liked it. Oh, he's sure there's more – he can feel the more complex reasons squirming in his brain, things he doesn't have words for. But for now, he thinks he's done pretty good. He hopes Pitch feels the same, because he's not sure how much serious thinking his brain can handle; he's still feeling the residual daze from that orgasm.

"I'm glad to hear it. And happy that it's helped you on different levels." He pauses and meets Jack's eyes, frowning slightly. "But Jack - you are special. You are worthy. I don't know why you would think that you're not, but-"

"Yeah, you just hit my daily limit for talking about my emotions, Pitch," Jack says, and holds up a hand. "You don't get to unlock my tragic past just yet."

Pitch's lips thin and Jack can almost hear him trying not to sigh. "You can't keep pushing it away forever, Jack."

"No, but we've only known each other for four weeks. That's not exactly __share your deepest darkest secrets __time. Unless you want to start with a dark, shadowy secret from your own past?"

Another pause, and Pitch shakes his head. "No. You're right. I'm expecting far too much. It's just that it doesn't feel like we've only known each other for such a short time."

Jack laughs and feels his shoulders relax. He hadn't even realised that he'd tensed up, but he should have, he always does when he gets defensive. "Wow, Pitch. I wouldn't have expected this kind of sentimentality from you."

"Not sentimentality. Just honesty."

The raw simplicity in those words is like ice water dumped over Jack's head. Honesty. Jack's been avoiding honesty most of his life. Not _lying_, just avoiding the ugliness of the truth. He takes another sip of his coffee.

"Yeah, well. You know what? Four weeks is actually kind of a long time to be dating. Bordering on serious. Maybe we should do something to celebrate." There's that not-quite-dishonesty, out of his mouth before he even knows it's coming.

"Alright," Pitch says quietly. "As long as you know that I will want you to talk about this at some point."

"I get that. And I understand why, and that means a lot." A small avalanche of relief buries Jack, and he jumps onto this respite. "But for right now - how about celebratory four-week-anniversary noodles?"


	25. Chapter 25

Jack lies on his side in bed, the menu screen for _Raiders of the Lost Ark_playing for the hundredth time. His eyes are closed and he's floating between dozing and daydreaming, thoughts of the four-week anniversary dinner flitting through his mind. Before, and after, too.

Before makes Jack feel a big tangled yarn ball of things. Horny. Curious. Eager for more- No, it's more that that. __Eager__isn't a big enough word for this need that thrums under his skin. He __yearns __for more. Different knots, different patterns, different ropes. He wants to experience everything Pitch knows; wants to learn new things together.

After was good too: back to Pitch's place for cuddling on the sofa with occasional spurts of making out. Lazy, sweet, comfortable. Perfect.

Just the thought of it makes Jack smile. A month already, and things are going well. Better than well, he dares to think. Good, even. Great. Pitch treats him like he matters - makes time for him, __listens __to him. The only time he's not available is at the weekends when he has his daughter - like today - but even then he's said that if Jack needs to talk, he can call.

And to think all of this started because of Ben's wildly inappropriate auction.

The noise of the front door opening snaps him from his semi-slumber and he jerks upright. His dad's supposed to be in Minnesota for a political fundraiser, what's he doing back?

The tension in Jack's stomach and shoulders is immediate, anxiety building like the formation of a hurricane. He listens to see if the footsteps will head his way, prays they won't. Usually his dad completely ignores him and that's shitty enough, but worse still when he pays attention to Jack - sneers and remarks that cut down to the bone with surgical precision. Every encounter makes it abundantly clear that his father does not like him, did not want him, doesn't want him around now.

Jack's halfway through thinking – again - that he really should move the hell out. Sure he doesn't have any money until he turns twenty-one and can claim his inheritance, but there are other options, he can borrow money from someone or crash on Kal and Jamie's floor, or __anything___-_

The knock on his door makes his stomach plunge the rest of the way, smashing on rock bottom.

"Yeah," he calls out, and the door swings open-

To reveal a woman with green and yellow streaks in her short, dark hair and a broad grin.

"Tooth?!"

"Surprise, I'm home," she says, and Jack throws a pillow at her, making her yelp.

"I thought you were dad," he yells, scrabbling out of bed and hugs her. She hugs back, so tight he can almost hear his ribs creak. For all her tiny slenderness, she's strong.

"It's so good to see you," she says, her feathery hair clip tickling his nose and making him want to sneeze.

"You too," he says, and means it. There's a distance between him and his siblings, wrought by years of their dad treating him like shit and them doing very little about it. But of all of them, Tooth was at least there afterwards. To hug Jack; to play with him when he was younger or talk to him when he was older. He loves her, even if there is a lot of complicated __stuff __behind it.

She goes over to sit on his oversized beanbag – her favourite piece of furniture – and sinks into it with a sigh. It dwarfs her and only the top of her head and her kitten heels are visible until she wriggles into a better position. "I hate long flights," she tells him. "You need to come and visit me, Jack. I want to take you sightseeing."

"Oh yeah, London in January, lovely. Are you __trying __to give me seasonal affective disorder?"

"Come later then. It's lovely in spring. You can come for as long as you like - things are obviously still rocky between you and Dad-"

"Yeah, well," Jack says, throwing himself onto his back and glaring at the ceiling. "He still treats me like he wishes I'd never been born, so that kind of comes between us, you know."

"Oh, Jack."

She doesn't say __of course he doesn't feel that way__, because they both know that would be a lie.

Silence stretches out until Tooth pulls herself to her feet and goes over to Jack, her heels clacking on his wooden floor.

"Let's go out," she says. "Let's get our Christmas on."

They go to Bryant Park. It was Tooth's idea – she remembered how much he loved the ice rink. Jack's touched by that, and then saddened by the fact that it means so much to him. Everything they ever do together is destined to be touched by their dysfunctional family ties.

Jack brought his own skates, and as he ties the laces, he tells himself that he's going to have fun. He's surprised when it happens. But as they whirl around the rink, darting around slower skaters and coming back together to join hands, he finds himself smiling.

It'd be nice to come here with Pitch, he thinks. The elegance in his walk, those long legs – he's bound to be an excellent skater. And - is it weird to think that Pitch ice skating would be kind of hot? Probably. It's definitely weird that the image of Pitch in a figure skater's costume flashes into his mind.

"Jack," Tooth says with a laugh. "What is with you? You're away with the fairies."

"I'm thinking of my boyfriend,"Jack says with a wink, hoping the suggestion of salaciousness will deflect further questions. He should've known better.

"Ooooh," she says, turning so that she's skating backwards, taking both of his hands. "This mysterious older man. Tell me more!"

"We just had our one month anniversary," Jack says, trying to avoid the _I like him to tie me up and I think I'd like him to spank me_ that is plastered all over his brain whenever he thinks of Pitch. "He likes eighties movies too, and he actually saw them in the cinema. He cooks a mean breakfast - both American and full English. His tea cupboard is immense - it puts even yours to shame."

"Now that I can't believe."

"He likes classic books - we're talking Dostoyevsky dull, here, but he likes dumb thrillers too. Oh and Harry Potter - he says it's because he read them to his daughter but no casual reader could talk so damn passionately about house politics."

Tooth raises her eyebrows, and it's not because she fears that Pitch is a Slytherin. "He has a daughter?"

"Yeah," Jack says, with a no-big-deal shrug as he wonders how much he wants to talk about Pitch with Tooth; how personal he's willing to get with her. How much he trusts her.

"Just how old is this guy, Jack?"

"Thirty-six."

She purses her lips slightly but nods. "And he makes you happy?"

"Yeah." Jack feels defensiveness building in him like a wall, tall and thick and seen in his clenched jaw and deep frown. Tooth gets the message and switches the subject.

She talks about her plans for the holidays: she's staying for two weeks, Bunny and North will be home in the next few days - yay - and then they can have a nice family dinner for his birthday. Considering that his dad will still be in Minnesota, it might actually be fun.

By the time they get off the ice, it's high time to head over to the food stalls. Jack's stomach is whining pitifully, so he promises it pretzels. Hot chocolate - the fake ID in his wallet might even get some rum added. Doughnuts. Waffles. There's usually a tea place, he could pick something up for Pitch's present.

Which is when he looks up and sees the object of his thoughts right there in front of him.

It's so unexpected that he halts, leaving a wake of annoyed muttering behind him.

Pitch, in a beat-up leather jacket with too many zippers, tight jeans and those damn Docs again. By his side is a little girl, her black hair a wild cascade of waves over her shoulders, light brown skin and big golden-brown eyes. There's a definite resemblance to Pitch, and with that black wool coat with shiny gold buttons over a frilly black dress, it looks like she's inherited some of her father's fashion sense.

Both of them are looking at a stall that looks like an explosion of Christmas decorations, and Jack is wondering if he should just pretend he hasn't seen them. Would Pitch even want him meeting his daughter? Maybe they should just head in the opposite direction, or leave the market completely.

Seraphina glances in their direction, tugs on her father's hand and points at Tooth - her bright hair and bright coat tends to draw attention, even in New York. Jack feels a heady cocktail of nerves/worry/all-out-panic as Pitch looks over as well.

He blinks as he sees Jack and the rictus smile he's forced into place, and after a moment's pause, he starts to walk over.


	26. Chapter 26

Pitch comes to a halt a few feet away, and gives him a small smile, his head cocked slightly as though he's not quite sure what to make of the situation.

That makes two of them, then.

"Hello, Jack."

"Hello Pitch," Jack says, and then his mouth runs out of words. He has plenty of thoughts, though, racing through his mind at speeds that break the sound barrier:

__I've been skating, I'm not stalking you, honest.__

__This is my sister, I'm not cheating on you.__

__But I'm gay, so, you know, if I was it wouldn't be with a woman.__

__But I'm not cheating on you because god, do you know what you do to me?__

__And oh god this is your daughter, this is serious-__

__Oh god, oh god, I'm sorry-__

It's probably for the best that he doesn't manage to say any of them.

"Papa, is this the Jack you've been telling me about?" Seraphina asks in an accent that is mostly British with an American twang. Jack's mind adds a few more _oh god_s at the thought that Pitch has been talking to his daughter about him.

"It is," Pitch says, and Seraphina's smile turns a little shy as she looks back up at Jack.

"Papa talks about you a lot," she tells him. "And Mama says that you're his boyfriend."

Jack's mind doesn't have any words for that. He only stares down at her, and then back up at Pitch. At least he has the courtesy to look embarrassed, a slight blush spreading over his cheeks.

Which is kinda hot, Jack's mind adds helpfully.

"That's one way of putting it," Pitch says, and Jack wonders if maybe he's dreaming, because that would sure explain a lot. He tries to surreptitiously pinch himself as Pitch looks at Tooth. "I don't think I caught your name. My daughter likes your hair."

"I'm Tooth. Jack's sister," she says, and smiles down at Seraphina.

Seraphina frowns. "That's a weird name."

"Seraphina, mind your manners," Pitch says, scolding lightly, but Tooth only laughs.

"My mom had a phase of giving her kids strange names. My full name is Toothiana. One of our other brothers is called Bunnymund."

Seraphina thinks about that and then smiles. "Toothiana is a pretty name. How do you get your hair like that?"

"I have a really good hairdresser," Tooth says with a grin. "She dyes it all kinds of colours for me."

Seraphina tugs on Pitch's arm. "Can I dye my hair, Papa?"

His eye twitches and his lips thin, but he manages to keep his answer even and calm. "Maybe when you're older," he says, but from the thoughtful look on Seraphina's face, it looks like they'll be returning to this conversation.

Tooth turns her attention to Pitch, and the warmth with which she spoke to Seraphina hardens into a smile that's politeness and nothing more. "Jack's been telling me about you as well. One of the things that he mentioned is that you're thirty-six. That makes you twice his age."

"Yes, I know," Pitch says. "I'm quite good at basic maths."

They glare at each other, and Jack's stomach swoops and dives.

"Hey, you know what?" He says hurriedly and a little too loudly. "We were going to go over to the food stalls." It's mostly to give Pitch a way to bow out and get away from Tooth and her accusatory tone, but Seraphina tugs on his sleeve.

"Papa, can we go too? I want a pretzel!" Pitch looks down at her, and Jack can practically see the refusal on his lips; but then when he sees her enthusiastic smile his face softens in a very specific way, and he smiles a smile Jack's not seen before; a smile that's just for Seraphina.

"Alright," he says, with only the slightest hint of defeat in his voice, and the way that she beams at him melts Jack's heart a little, too.

"I like the cheese-stuffed pretzels," she says as they wind their way through the Saturday crowds, looking up at Jack. "And I like the chocolate covered fruit. And the cider!"

"Me too," Jack says dully, wondering where that great-with-kids part of him is hiding out.

"My favourite is the hot chocolate," Tooth says with a wink. "Wherever I am, I like to try hot chocolate. I live in London, and I try to have it somewhere new every week. There's lots of hot chocolate to try in London."

"We're going to London next month!" Seraphina says, looking up at her papa, who nods. Jack stares at him. It shouldn't hurt nearly as much as it does that Pitch hasn't mentioned that to him yet. "You'll have to tell us some places to go."

"I'll write a list and give it to Jack," Tooth promises, and points out an empty table. She breaks into a run to grab it before anyone else does.

"I didn't know you were going to London," Jack says quietly, and Pitch glances at him.

"I'm sorry. I should have told you."

"Why didn't you?"

A thoughtful pause, and then an elegant shrug of leather-clad shoulders. "We were still finding our feet with each other. I wanted to know where we stood with one another first."

"And where do we stand?"

"Together." Pitch says as they arrive at the table. He helps Seraphina into one of the tall, bar stool-like seats and then touches Jack's shoulder. "We'll talk about this later. Will you watch Seraphina while I go to get the food?"

Jack nods, and then realises that Pitch is trusting him with his daughter, and that's kind of a big deal.

"I'll come with you," Tooth says. "Pretzel and hot chocolate, right, Jack?"

Jack nods, and it's only after they've started to walk away that he realises that they're going to be talking to each other, and that things might go horribly wrong.

"Have you ever been to London?" Seraphina asks, and Jack forces himself to turn to her and pay attention instead of catastrophising. It's not like Tooth's __really__going to threaten Pitch and make him dump Jack. That's probably, almost definitely not a thing that is going to happen.

"I have," Jack says, turning to her with a smile. It's forced to start with, but becomes real when he sees how sweetly she smiles at him, how interested in his answer she is. Like her father, she actually cares about what he has to say. "In fact, Tooth asked me just this afternoon if I'd go visit her."

"Why don't you come when me and Mama and Papa go? We could get to know each other on the way there."

Jack blinks at her. "We could, couldn't we," he says, and looks over at Tooth and Pitch. They're facing away from him and he can't tell much from their backs, but neither of them is punching the other, so he takes that as a good sign.


	27. Chapter 27

Since there's not much of a queue at the pretzel stall, Jack hopes that Tooth and Pitch will return before anything goes horribly wrong.

He's not even sure what he fears. Possibly that they'll start screaming at each other; their mutual dislike was instantaneous and obvious. Or maybe he's more afraid that Tooth will convince Pitch that dating Jack is a huge mistake, and that'll be the end of one of the best things that has happened to him. He tries to tell himself that Tooth wouldn't do that to him, and that this relationship means as much to Pitch as it does to Jack, but the flicker of uncertainty is like a flame that refuses to be snuffed out.

"Grandad and Nana live near London," Seraphina tells him, and he forces himself to pay attention to her. "In a big mansion! I love it there - it's so old and fancy. And my horse lives in the stables. Do you like horses, Jack?"

"I've only ever seen the ones in Central Park," Jack says, unable to stop himself from glancing up at Pitch and Tooth again. He sees that they're talking. Pitch is leaning over so that he can hear the much-shorter Tooth over the noise of the market, and he's frowning so deeply that Jack can see it from here.

"Oh then you should come, I'll show you how to ride! My horse is called Jet, she's nice - I bet she'll let you ride her."

"Um," Jack says, and _that_ distracts him from snooping on Pitch and Tooth. Because as fun as that sounds, it would involve either sneaking into the stable or being introduced to Pitch's parents and seriously, he can't even __begin __to imagine what they would think of their son's twink boyfriend.

Luckily he doesn't have too much time to dwell on it because Tooth and Pitch are back. Their hands are full of drinks and food, and neither of them is sporting bruises or bloodied lips. Whatever that frown was about, it doesn't seem to have devolved into fist fighting, so Jack counts that as a win.

Feeling cautiously optimistic, Jack accepts a mug and a pretzel in a Christmassy bag from Tooth, and then almost spit-takes his hot chocolate when Seraphina says,

"Papa, Jack says he might come to London with us!"

Wide-eyed, Jack looks at Pitch, and finds an eyebrow raised at him. "Tooth's been bugging me to come visit her for months," Jack explains, forcing a smile. "Seraphina said I should fly with you."

"We could sit together on the plane," Seraphina agrees. "I think Mama would like to meet him."

Pitch chokes on his pretzel. "Oh, I'm sure she would." He coughs and dabs at his mouth with a napkin. He gazes at Jack, and Jack can't read his expression. It makes anxiety churn in his stomach and he _really_wishes Tooth had put some rum in his hot chocolate.

"It was just a thought," Jack says, and shrugs. He looks away and concentrates on a cigarette burn on the table. It makes him want a smoke as well as the rum. "Of course you wouldn't want me around on your family trip. I was going to wait until the weather was better anyway."

"Who said I wouldn't want you around?" Pitch says softly, and his hand wraps around Jack's. It's warm, and gentle, and it calms Jack's anxiety better than alcohol and nicotine ever could. "Transatlantic flights are so terribly dull, maybe you could make them a little more fun."

"Really?" Jack dares a glance up and sees Pitch's smirk, and wonders what he's thinking. _Mile high club, _his mind unhelpfully suggests, and his libido crashes to the forefront of his attention, both eager and wildly inappropriate.

"Oh Jack, that's a great idea," Tooth says, reaching across the table to squeeze his other hand. "It's like I said earlier. You need to get out of New York for a bit, and this is the perfect opportunity."

Jack nods. "Alright then," he says quietly, glancing up at Pitch who smiles and keeps his hand where it is, intertwined with Jack's.

Jack feels the last of his anxiety gutter and die under the weight of relief. That went – better than he ever could have hoped. Considering that he was pretty much planning on stalking Pitch across an ocean, it's probably for the best that Seraphina mentioned it. Maybe there'll be some fallout later – after all, nothing ever goes entirely Jack's way. But for now, everything seems like it might be at least somewhat okay, and there's a part of his mind that keeps focusing on the whole mile high club thing, and that at least sounds like a one hundred percent awesome idea.

And it __will __be good to get out of New York for a bit. A change of scenery will do him the world of good; it always reminds him that the world is bigger than this little bubble that traps him, and that one day he'll be free of it.

Buoyed by the thought, Jack is able to get through the rest of the afternoon. Not just get through – he actually enjoys it. Watching Pitch and Seraphina interact is kind of lovely; it shows a paternal side to Pitch that Jack hasn't really seen before. Gentle and kind, fiercely protective, patient and understanding.

Actually, on second thought, maybe Jack __has __seen that side of Pitch. Just from a different angle.

They finish their pretzels and hot chocolates and say their goodbyes, and as Jack heads to the subway station he's actually happy that they ended up running into each other. Tooth goes to catch up with some friends and Jack heads home alone, texting Kal and Jamie an invite for a Back to the Future marathon and rum-infused hot chocolate.

It's only when he steps onto the train that he realises he has no idea what Tooth said to Pitch to make him frown like that.


	28. Chapter 28

Jack means to ask Tooth about what she and Pitch talked about, but she wake before him, leaving a note on the fridge that says __I'll cook dinner, see you at 7 xx__. He's not sure if he's annoyed or relieved.

He spends what little is left of the morning finishing the plush rabbit he's made for Bunny's Christmas present. It's a tradition; Jack always makes him something rabbit-related. It started when Jack was five years old and drew him a rabbit with marker pens and glitter glue. It probably went straight in the trash - hell, most of them probably did - but Jack's got a theme and he's sticking to it. Besides, this plush is pretty good. It's white, with blue eyes: a snow bunny. Kinda like Jack himself.

Tooth and North are getting handmade presents too: Tooth's getting a pair of brightly-coloured feather earrings, North a pair of Letterpress prints based on his _naughty_ and _nice_ tattoos. They all give handmade presents now; what started as Jack making presents for Bunny became a tradition for all of them. It's one of the few things that Jack likes about this time of year: he knows his siblings are going to spend some time thinking about him.

He never gets anything from his dad, of course-

Jack derails that train of thought before it can get any further. He's in a decent mood and he really doesn't want it spoiled. Instead he concentrates on stitching the fluffy white pompom to the bunny's butt.

There. Finished. And adorable, if he does say so himself.

He pauses, looking down at his sewing supplies. There's probably enough fabric to make another one. Enough stuffing, too. He could make one for Seraphina. Pitch said that he and Seraphina's mom don't let her have too many toys, but a hand-made rabbit from her father's boyfriend should be okay, right?

Jack smirks at __boyfriend __and starts cutting out the pieces. Since Pitch didn't deny it, is that how he thinks of Jack? How does Jack think of Pitch, for that matter? Other than - well, he's thought of him as his dom a few times…

Jack bites his lip, hard. This feels like an inappropriate thought to have while making a stuffed toy for a kid.

Even if he's been thinking of Pitch that way, that dynamic is only one facet of their relationship. They've had vanilla sex more than they've been kinky, and that's probably going to continue. Jack's not sure how it is for Pitch, but for himself, he doesn't think that he could handle kinky stuff all the time. It's too intense. He needs to break it up with plain old vanilla fucking or he'll burn out.

He winces. What was that about sexy thoughts becoming inappropriate for toy making again?

_Boyfriends_, Jack thinks, determined to keep his mind somewhat smut-free. He'd be happy with __boyfriends___._ It's kind of a catch-all and seems almost - innocent - for what Jack wants Pitch to do to him, and what he's pretty damn sure Pitch wants to do to him. But in lieu of anything else, it'll do.

Glancing down at his phone, where it rests by his knee, he's struck by what is either a burst of courage or stupidity.

He texts Pitch: __So we're boyfriends?__

He isn't expecting an instant reply since Pitch is with Seraphina, but he's barely picked up his scissors again when his phone buzzes.

__Yes. Amongst other things.__

Jack puts the scissors down and picks up his phone, reading the text, rereading it. Pitch didn't have time to think about it; that was automatic.

And that's awesome.

Jack taps his finger on the back of the phone, wondering how to reply, then is struck by what is possibly a very dumb idea.

Stripping off his hoodie and t-shirt, he puts his fingers to his mouth, as suggestive as he can manage, and takes a photo. He sends it, along with __Then here you go, boyfriend___._

He pauses, waiting for a reply, feeling nervous when he doesn't get one straight away.

His mind runs through fifteen increasingly terrible reasons for delay - Pitch is angry with him, Seraphina saw it and is asking Questions - before he gets a response.

__You are a minx. Get your shirt back on before you get hypothermia.__

Jack writes __I'm in my apartment, not Central Park __before thinking better of it and deleting the whole thing.

He puts his t-shirt on and sends another photo like that, along with __Yes sir___._

A few moments pass. Jack checks his email and his Facebook, something to distract himself, and then he gets a final text that makes him shiver with anticipation.

__I like that, Mr Frost. I will show you just how much the next time I see you.__

* * *

A/N: So sorry for not posting for so long! I've recently become self-employed so I've been really busy. We should be back to weekly updates now, thank you so much for all your support! x


	29. Chapter 29

Jack sits in the coffeeshop, waiting for Pitch to arrive. He's taken the window seat and watches the snow hurry past, spots of whiteness that are stark against the dark. The streetlights are out and the darkness is alien in this city that never sleeps. The bright windows of the stores and cafes hang in the darkness, unreal and eerie. The cars that drive past seem weird and out of place, and the whole scene seems like an avant garde French movie.

It makes Jack feel disconnected, like he's caught in a dream that he can't quite wake up from. Or - no, maybe the movie analogy was right, because his whole life seems like a movie these days. The whole thing with Pitch which is still, unbelievably, going right. Meeting Seraphina and her seeming to like him is even more unbelievable. Sure, Pitch and Tooth didn't seem to like each other much, but movies have to have their antagonistic characters or it would make them dull. And Jack's life is __certainly__not dull. That promise in Pitch's text message suggests that's not going to change any time soon.

He tries to decide how to act when Pitch arrives. Should he immediately bring up the response to the photo and ask what Pitch has in mind? Or should he wait for Pitch to mention it? He feels like he should maybe wait and let Pitch control the situation - the thought of Pitch in control makes his breath catch - but he also really, __really __wants to know what Pitch has planned. He's not sure how long his patience will last.

He has a half-formed plan of being all seductive - fluttering lashes, licking his lips, the whole cliché shtick - to try and coax a quick response from Pitch. But then Pitch walks in and all thought flees from Jack's mind. Tall, dressed in black from head to toe, snow in his hair and on his jacket, he's just so thoroughly __Pitch__that for a moment Jack forgets how to breathe as his heart races – now __there's__a cliché.

And then Pitch fixes him with this intense __look__and it's all Jack can do to stare back.

__I want you,__he thinks, and he aches with it, down to his bones, suffusing his soul. It's not just sex, or the kinky stuff, it's __everything__. He wants to be part of Pitch's life, he wants to belong and be needed and __oh fuck I think I'm in love.__

The revelation floors him nearly as much as that look does, and he has to look away, completely unable to cope with both of them at once, or either of them if he's being honest.

He hears the scrape of the chair on the floor as Pitch pulls it out from the table, and then the soft sound of him sitting.

"Is everything alright, Jack?"

"Yeah." Jack dares a glance up. There's concern in Pitch's eyes, a slight frown creasing his forehead. Jack swallows. "Yeah. You?"

"Everything's fine. Better now that I'm here."

Jack risks a small grin. "You charmer, you."

"Obviously." Pitch pauses and reaches across the table to hold Jack's hand. "Are you sure you're alright?"

Jack's heart's still aching, and racing laps in his chest. He nods, and paraphrases: "Now that you're here."

Pitch gives him a smile and then lifts Jack's hand to his lips, pressing a sweet little kiss to the back of it. "And you said __I'm __charming."

"Yeah, because you are. Come on, man, are you trying to make me swoon?"

"Yes," Pitch says, and then gestures at Jack's mostly-empty cup. "Can I get you another drink?"

"Sure."

"What would you like?"

As if Jack's in any state of mind to make decisions like that. "Surprise me."

Pitch nods and goes to the counter, but there's no possible way that Pitch's choice of drink could surprise Jack more than his own realisation. He prods and pokes at it, as though more information might emerge, like what exactly he's supposed to do about it and how to deal with it.

The only thing he comes up with is that he's sure that he's right. He's in love with Pitch. After four weeks. Is that too soon? Is it normal? Jack's slept with a fair number of people, sure, but fallen in love? Nope. He loved Jamie, but that was a weird transition from friendship to romance and back again. This is the kind of huge __thing __they make movies about, being swept off your feet and running off to Vegas to get married by Elvis.

His heart is still racing when Pitch returns with the coffee - light roast, swimming with cream, just the way Jack likes it.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

Jack shrugs. "I'm just - jittery."

"Maybe I shouldn't have got you coffee, then," Pitch says, but Jack grins, suddenly inspired.

"Nah, you should help me calm down instead."

Pitch raises an eyebrow and then sips his tea. "And how would I do that?"

Only the nervous energy thrumming through Jack's veins lets him speak, that and the honest truth that he needs it because it __will __help him calm down, maybe better than anything else. "Well," he starts, and licks his lips. "It would involve rope."

Pitch stops, and then puts down his cup. He fixes another __look__on Jack. This one makes Jack shiver, his hand tightening around the coffee cup. He breathes deep and feels - sort of like he's sinking. Or floating. Or some other damn thing that doesn't make any sense.

"Jesus, Pitch, you need to stop looking at me like that or I'm going to pass out or something."

Pitch flicks his gaze away and breathes out slowly through pursed lips. "I'm sorry. But you make me want to _do _things to you."

"And you should do those things. Definitely. As soon as we get back to your apartment."

"Then drink quickly, Jack," Pitch says.

Jack doesn't need to be told twice.


End file.
